My Paradox
by mak5258
Summary: For Grandpa Jonathan, whom I never met: the SmallvilleSuperman story from the time of Jonathan's death through Clark's.


I'm Jonathan Kent and this is my paradox; my life as a ghost.

- - -

Jonathan Kent stood in front of his own gravestone. It was the oddest thing he'd ever done, and that included the part of his life where he had taken in an alien child that had crashed in front of his truck.

He couldn't remember his death. Probably a good thing.

He had gone to his own funeral. It had snowed. Everybody he'd ever cared about was there. He hadn't realized he was dead yet then. He'd seen his wife and his son standing there in their nice black clothes under umbrellas looking so sad. He'd tried to comfort them, reaching out to ask what was the matter, but his hand had passed right through them. He'd tried to speak but nobody heard him.

He had stood there for hours. He could hear and see everything, but he couldn't touch anything. _I'm a ghost._ He realized. For some reason it didn't scare him or worry him, it just seemed like the next natural step.

The traditional words had been said and then the preacher had left his friends and family standing there. They filtered away in pairs and small groups slowly. Lana took Clark's hand, making him smile, Clark had waited for her to do that for so long; but Clark didn't even react, his eyes focused straight ahead, holding everything in. Chloe and Lois left, looking back at Clark and Martha but not going to them, and then Lana left too. Lionel Luthor stood behind Martha for a second and Jonathan flared with jealousy. _This is my funeral and you're making a pass at my wife?!_ He was shouting, but they couldn't hear him. Lionel moved away without touching her and Jonathan settled, glaring at the older man. Martha and Clark stood side by side for a moment and then Martha walked around to the other side of his grave. Jonathan felt rooted to the spot since the first time he'd come around in his death; they were leaving him. Clark bent down, letting a fistful of dirt fall onto his coffin, saying goodbye. _No, I'm still here! I'm right here!_ He had shouted, but they couldn't hear him.

Clark walked around the grave then too, and Martha finally seemed to break. Her knees buckled and she fell into her son, who caught her and held her close. She sobbed into his chest, Clark just standing there and holding her, his own eyes brimming with tears that couldn't quite fall.

They'd gone then and he'd been alone.

Workers from the cemetery had come later that afternoon and filled his grave with dirt, flattening it and walking away. They'd done their job in silence, thankfully; he didn't think he could handle anybody talking about anything happy just now.

The snow had covered his grave within minutes; the footprints in the snow around the grave were the only thing that told him his gravestone hadn't been there any longer than any other grave.

That night he had left the cemetery. At first something hadn't seemed right, leaving his body so far behind. But then he'd seen them, other ghosts. Each tombstone had a figure above it for a moment when the moon showed through the clouds above; they all seemed to look up at the sad, enjoy the snow and the light for a second, and then most of them faded back into nothing. Only the most recently dead, the ones that had family and friends alive in town, stayed, their forms becoming a little more solid the longer they stayed. He couldn't see them properly; they were faded images of the people he remembered. They shimmered in the moonlight, their forms wavering as though they weren't sure they existed. He looked down at himself and discovered he was doing the same. Jonathan couldn't help but smile when he realized he was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

He saw Lana's parents walking out of the cemetery and suddenly everything was all right. The pair of them slowly made their way down the road as though they did it every night. They faded into the night headed toward Lana's apartment.

Jonathan found himself running, his feet pounding silently against the pavement. He was going home, he would see his family.

He heard Martha's tears before he saw either of them. Then he had to deal with the door. He would pass straight through solid objects but the idea of walking through a door or a wall wasn't what came to mind. He waved his hand through the doorknob a few times before walking through the door even occurred to him. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he squeezed his eyes shut, stuck his arms in front of him, and passed through the door. It was an odd sensation; the curtains didn't even rustle and he was inside his house.

Martha and Clark were seated at the kitchen table. Martha was crying, choking on her tears and brushing at her cheeks with a tissue. Clark didn't seem to be able to cry, he just sat there with a hand on his mother's shoulder, holding her to him. His face was stony. He'd never seen his son look more alien, but when he looked into his son's eyes he saw all the pain that he was keeping bottled up inside, probably thinking that it was for the good of those around him.

"It is not wise to come back on the first night," a familiar voice said behind him, but he didn't turn around. "They feel your presence every time; they need time to grieve for your physical self before they can accept your comfort as a spirit."

"You can't ask me to leave," Jonathan said, his voice cracking as he turned around.

"No, but I can advise you to," his father said. His father's ghost looked younger than he had been when he died, middle aged instead of eighty-something. His father had had children late in life and barely lived to see his youngest, Jonathan, married. His form was pale and slightly blue like all the other had been in the moonlight, the warm light of the kitchen filled him in some, giving him more life. But it was like the moon was still shining on him indoors. "Your presence only intensifies their pain right now."

Jonathan nodded silently, following his father out through the front door. He had learned not to question his father's wisdom in life and he wouldn't give up on it in his death. He promised himself that he'd come back at the end of the week; until then, he'd wait at his grave.

- - -

It was almost a week before he saw either of them again, not having returned to the house yet. His headstone was in place, marking the place just over where the forehead of his body rested. That was an eerie thought. The pair of them came together in the truck, Clark driving still as emotionless as the night of the funeral.

Martha stood and stared at the tombstone, she wasn't crying anymore, but she still held a tissue in her hands, kneading it and pulling it to shreds. Clark seemed to notice this, capturing her hands in his own to stop the destructive motion. Martha finally looked up from the marble marker and looked into her son's eyes, her tears starting to fall again. Clark's eyes were the only thing showing emotion, compassion and grief flooding out as he took the tissue from his mother's grip, replacing it with a fresh one from his pocket. Jonathan felt his throat seizing up; his son was taking care of his wife while she grieved, unable to grieve himself. Martha fell into her son, clutching the tissue to her like a lifeline. Clark just held her, his eyes staring down at the grave.

"Don't do that, Clark," Jonathan found himself saying, hoping somehow his son's remarkable ears would pick up his ethereal voice. "The last thing you need to see is the body under the soil. Just stop," he begged, and Clark shut his eyes a moment later, his face a mask of pain for a brief second. Martha pulled away then, walking slowly back to the passenger side of the truck, wiping her tears away with the new tissue and beginning to knead it into oblivion as well. Clark sighed, setting the small bouquet they had brought near the marker and glancing once more through the soil before joining his mother in the truck.

- - -

Life moved on around him and Jonathan only felt stuck. Martha took his place as senator, throwing herself into the work to keep herself distracted, and Clark, well, Clark was being Clark.

Jonathan felt completely helpless. Clark and Lana broke up a few weeks after his death because of Clark's secret. It hit Clark hard, first his father's death and then the loss of the girl he'd chased after for years. Martha was there for him, but Jonathan wanted to be there for him too. Chloe and Lois hung around the house a lot, Lex Luthor stopped by now and again as well, but there was definite tension between the Kents and the Luthors.

Martha visited his grave alone every Friday night. She'd bring flowers and stick them in the snow near the stone. She would just stand there and look at it, her lips moving silently. He wished she could hear him, wished he could tell her that she would be okay or even just as her to speak up so that he might be able to hear what she seemed to be telling him.

Frustrated, that's what he was.

Clark visited too, not as frequently or routinely as his mother, but he visited. He didn't bring flowers or anything, just appeared out of nowhere and looked at the marker. Once or twice Jonathan thought his son might see him. He would find Clark looking directly at him, his eyes out of focus, but then his eyes would look at a different spot with the same focus.

Chloe visited once, sort of. She walked past the cemetery and stopped, staring over the fence at his grave marker for almost five minutes before sighing and continuing on her walk. What really surprised him was when Lois showed up. She even brought flowers.

Clark seemed equally surprised to find Lois at his father's grave when he arrived in his usual fashion, super speeding into the cemetery. Lois didn't seem to notice that Clark had appeared faster than humanly possible, in fact, she didn't seem to notice he was there until he touched her shoulder. His eyebrows were hidden in his hair that had fallen over his forehead again, surprised.

"Lois?" He asked, his touch on her shoulder was gentle. Jonathan just watched.

"Clark," Lois said, sniffing loudly and wiping away a tear Jonathan hadn't noticed.

"Are you okay?" Who knew his son could sound so mature and concerned; especially for Lois, whom he shared mutual loathing with? She stared at him as though debating what to say, her eyes calculating for a moment before they suddenly softened, her walls coming down. She sniffed again.

"No," she sounded miserable. Clark moved the hand that had settled on her shoulder down to her waist and pulled her closer, and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest much like Martha had at the funeral. "I know I only knew him for two years," Lois said, her voice muffled by tears and Clark's shirt, "but it feels like I lost my dad."

"I miss him too," Clark said. He didn't sound surprised to hear Lois talking about his father like her own, but he looked a little surprised that she was admitting it to him and accepting his comfort. He squeezed her a little closer.

The pair of them stood close for a long time, talking softly. Lois eventually pulled away from Clark just enough so that they could both face the tombstone. They looked so serious, so sad. Clark had let his mask fall as well; his cheeks were wet with the tears he hadn't been able to shed until now. Jonathan, again, wished he could say something, anything to them. He'd never realized how close the pair of them were, too busy trying to ignore their bickering or help Clark sort out his relationship problems with Lana or Chloe.

"You're not allowed to tell anybody about this, Smallville," Lois said, sounding more like the Lois Jonathan knew. She turned to face Clark, wiping at her cheek with the back of her wrist and not quite managing to remove any moisture. Clark smiled softly, bringing his hands up to her cup face and wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

"And have people thinking we're friends? No way," Lois smiled back at him, giving a laugh that was still halfway between her usual light chuckle and a sob. She brought up a hand and wiped the tears of his cheeks gently, letting her hand drop down to the arm that still held his hand to her cheek. "We'll be okay, Lois," Clark murmured, kissing her forehead. Lois let out a deep breath, closing her eyes when his lips touched her skin.

Jonathan watched, his mouth hanging open. Never during his life would he have guessed that Clark would willingly be that close to Lois, let alone kiss her even if it _was_ just her forehead, nor would Lois let him be that close, or let him kiss her. They walked out of the cemetery together a few minutes later, Clark's arm wrapped protectively around Lois's shoulders, her hands were wound into his t-shirt, bracing herself against him.

- - -

Clark came back on his birthday, holding the tickets his dad had put in a card for his son's birthday less than a week before his death. This was the worst part of his death so far. Clark put the tickets on the tombstone and stood there for awhile. He didn't speak since he'd told him he wished they could go to the game together, just standing there. Jonathan tried three times to give his son a hug, each time his arms just passed through Clark's shoulders as though they weren't there. Something seemed to change in that moment. There was fog everywhere, like the line was blurring between them and Clark looked up, getting to his feet. Clark was staring right at Jonathan and Jonathan could only stare back. The moment didn't last long enough; they'd just come to terms with seeing and being seen by one another when the fog swirled again and Jonathan felt himself slipping away before he could even say anything. Clark stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes looking at the space where he'd last seen his father. Jonathan hadn't moved, pretending that Clark could see him. Clark was focusing and re-focusing his eyes, Jonathan assumed he was trying to use his x-ray vision to see through to wherever he'd seen moment before. Jonathan wished it would work, but it didn't. Clark's shoulders sagged and he just stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Clark finally left and Jonathan sat down, staring at the tickets.

Two weeks later Lois was back. "Hey Mr. Kent," she said softly. Jonathan quietly thanked the powers that be that Lois was actually speaking audibly, unlike his wife who still came and moved her lips at his tombstone every Friday and drove him to frustration like no other. "I'm, um, I'm here to say goodbye… I'm moving back to Metropolis. I got a job at the _Daily Planet_ with Chloe. And yes, I know that I swore once to never touch journalism, but… I don't know. It's a good job, good paper, and I _do_ love Metropolis," they were both smirking even though she couldn't see him. "I just felt like I should come and say goodbye because I don't know when I'll be getting back, if I'll be getting back… I'm not really good at goodbyes," she smiled, tears in her eyes again. "I want to say thank you, I guess. Thank you for letting me stay at your house and putting up with me," she smiled tearily again. "I guess you'll never have any idea how much I appreciated it. My dad was never around, and when he was he was never like you. I wish… I don't know. Thank you for being such a good person in the time that I knew you, for raising such a good person…" she sniffed again before wiping her eyes and standing straight, regaining her composure. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lois," he whispered into the wind. She bit her lip almost like she had heard him, but them she left the cemetery, leaving him alone again.

In the first month he'd followed his family around, watching Martha and Clark support each other and live their lives, but it had been too much. He couldn't stand being there and not being able to do anything with or for them. Martha spent a lot of time in Metropolis and Clark kept up the farm, passing his nights alone with his telescope in his loft. Eventually, Jonathan had just decided to stay by his body and let his family come to him when they needed to say something.

- - -

Clark appeared out of nowhere, as usual, one morning. Winter had ended and everything was blooming, the trees were green again, and there was grass on his grave, something Jonathan had celebrated.

Jonathan studied his son's face. Clark was troubled. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with a dark blue jacket, his hand clenched around a pale green crystal. For a moment Jonathan panicked, wanting to take the crystal away, thinking it was kryptonite. Then Clark held the hexagonal cylinder up, showing it to the grave. His jaw was clenched tightly, more upset than troubled, Jonathan realized.

"I have to go," Clark said, his voice barely a whisper. "Jor-El… Jor-El is threatening mom. I- I can't lose both of you."

Jonathan stepped close to his son, wanting desperately to reach out and comfort him.

"I have to go north, back to the Fortress of Solitude," his voice was bitter. "Jor-El is going to train me to be ready for whatever destiny he picked for me. If I don't go he'll take mom… I don't know how long I'll be gone and I don't know what I'll be when I get back, but-" his voice caught in his through and he had to stop a moment to clear it. "Lois and Chloe are settled in Metropolis, Mom's doing well as a senator so she'll have that to keep her busy and she's in Metropolis a lot, close to the _Planet_… I haven't told her why I'm going, I don't know how I can," he chuckled mirthlessly. "'Oh, Mom, by the way, I've got to go to the North Pole because the artificial intelligence my biological father sent with me will kill you if I don't?' I can't, Dad," he sighed. "I'm going to come back as soon as I can… See you later, Dad."

Jonathan wanted to yell after his son, make him come back; make him at least tell his mother. So, for the first time since that first month, he followed his son out of the cemetery. Clark was super-speeding but that wasn't a problem for a ghost, as Jonathan had discovered. He could walk at his normal speed but cover ten times the distance, as though he were wearing seven-league boots. The first time he had done it, keeping up with his son when he ran from Smallville to Metropolis in a few seconds flat, he'd been scared half to death, if that was possible for a dead person. He'd gained a new respect for his son that day.

Clark walked into his room and threw basic supplies into a backpack. Jeans, t-shirts, boxers, sunglasses, socks, the crystal. His cell phone rang, but he ignored it. Jonathan checked it and was surprised to see it was Lois Lane calling. When he turned around Clark was gone, standing in the driveway saying goodbye to Shelby. _You'll say goodbye to the dog but not your mother?_ He wondered, glaring at the back of his son's head as he floated through the wall of Clark's bedroom and down to ground level. A car pulling up in the drive interrupted his internal lecture.

"Clark?" Martha asked, looking at her son carefully. "Where are you going?"

"North," he answered, looking extremely sad.

"Why?" Martha was immediately opposed to it, knowing what lay north.

"Because," Clark's voice faltered and he swallowed before continuing. "Jor-El is going to take you unless I go."

"What?"

"I have to go, I can't lose you both."

"Clark," Martha's voice cracked and again Jonathan wished he could interact with them even only for a few seconds. "If you leave _I'll _be losing both of you," her voice was so soft. Clark was by her side in a flash, literally, holding her close.

"I'll be back, Mom," he promised. "As soon as I can, I'll come back…" They stood like that for a little longer before Martha finally pulled away, nodding her head slowly and wiping at her eyes. "Goodbye for now," Clark said softly, and Martha's chest heaved again, blinking back tears.

"Goodbye for now," she repeated back to him.

Then Clark was gone, speeding away too fast for even Jonathan to keep up.

Martha came to his grave that night. She stood there for almost an hour, not even moving her lips. "He's gone, Jonathan," she finally managed, actually speaking this time. Jonathan was standing directly in front of her, staring at her, trying to make her see him so he could comfort her. "Jor-El finally took him away," she was sobbing them, huge tears falling from her cheeks and she didn't try to stop them.

And Jonathan could only stand there and watch her cry.

- - -

Three years passed.

Martha hired help on the farm, paying men from town to keep it running while she acted as senator. Chloe, according to what Martha told him (she had finally figured out how to speak to his gravestone, which made his death a lot more pleasant), left Metropolis a year after Clark disappeared, disappearing off the map as completely as Clark had. Lois made a name for herself at the _Planet_, scoring several front page articles; Martha would bring the paper when this happened, gushing to her dead husband as though Lois were their daughter.

And then Clark came back.

Martha was in Metropolis until late and it was the middle of winter. Jonathan had just been sitting in the snow, considering making a snow angel just to see if he could, when he heard a familiar swoosh. He looked up, his jaw dropping when he saw the dark figure bathed in the moonlight. Clark was wearing a white button-up shirt open a little at the collar, khaki pants, and plain white shoes; his sleeves were rolled up but he didn't show any sign of feeling the cold against his skin. He was pale, extra pale because of his dark hair and the pale clothing in the moonlight. Something was definitely different about him, but it took Jonathan a moment to figure it out. It was in his face and the way he held himself. He was no longer the naïve farmboy that had been raised in Smallville. Whatever Jor-El had taught him in the north had changed him, like he'd said it would. He looked taller just because he was standing straight, and extremely intimidating; he was a man with lots of muscles, a serious face, and the gleam in his eye that told anybody who looked that he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Clark," Jonathan stammered, knowing full well his son wouldn't, couldn't hear.

"Hi Dad," Clark said. His voice sounded the same, more confident, tired maybe, but still Clark's voice. "It's, uh, been awhile," he smiled. He still had that awkward smile he'd always had that lit up a room when he was smiling for the right reasons. "I've had a helluva couple of years," his smile faded a little. "Jor-El had a lot to explain, the crystals he sent had information from twenty-eight different planets on them that I had to learn. It felt like forever, but it was incredibly interesting… incredible," Clark was shaking his head, looking up at the stars instead of down at the grave, making Jonathan frown for a moment before Clark looked directly at him.

"I miss you," Clark said, his voice quiet and calm. "I missed Mom and everybody… I haven't been to the house yet; it's easier to face you, you can't talk back- Mom… I didn't want to leave her and I don't know what to say to her. I doesn't matter what I learned, I could've lived without it, but… I'm glad I learned it, and I don't know how to tell her that." Jonathan went stiff, staring at his son. "I can help more people better with the information he gave me… I learned how to fly, Dad," he was smiling, almost breathless in the exhilaration of the memory of flight. "It's amazing, the sun above the clouds… I wish you were still here, I wish I could take you up- I want to take Mom up, if she'll let me. I know our first experience with flight wasn't so great, but… I'm in control now. Kal-El and Clark are one person. I'm just me. And Jor-El has no more leverage, I turned it all off. No more meteor showers, no more blackmail… There's this really weird-looking suit he wanted me to wear and save the world, but…"

Clark went on and on, and eventually, Jonathan found himself caught up in his son's enthusiasm. The sun was rising when Clark left the graveyard to find his mother. Jonathan contemplated going after to watch the reunion, but decided against it. The other ghosts were coming back to their graves for their day and Jonathan found himself willing to join them after sitting on top of the ground for three years. He was ready to rest even if it was just for one day while his wife and son were together again; they didn't need him today.

- - -

Martha didn't come back for a visit for another three months. Her visits had become fewer and farther in between in the past years, stopping by on birthdays and their anniversary, but she was doing okay.

"Clark left for Metropolis today," Martha told him, staring at the gravestone in the moonlight. "He has an apartment all set up, Jimmy Olsen, Chloe's old boyfriend from the _Planet_, helped him get moved in. He's got a job as a reporter at the _Planet_ too. He's excited to get started. Lois is still there. I can't help but wonder how long it will be before he calls home to complain about her," she smiled.

Jonathan listened silently. He wouldn't have interrupted her even if she could hear him.

"There was an article in the paper about him," Martha said after a pause, pulling the issue out of her purse and looking down at it. Jonathan had to come around her to look over her shoulder. On the front page was a picture of their son in midair wearing a bright blue suit with a red cape. He looked very serious, holding a falling helicopter in one hand, the other arm wrapped around a terrified-looking Lois Lane. "Lois doesn't know that was him," Martha sighed, hating secrets. "She wrote the article. They're all calling him Superman, the man of steel, things like that," she was smiling with pride and Jonathan couldn't help but smile as well. "He's been saving people all week in that getup. He called last night, telling me this article would be coming out, preparing me, I guess. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Jor-El's plan worked, or at least the parts of it Clark is going along with…"

There was no gossip around the graveyard. The dead didn't care much about what the living did unless they knew them, were waiting for them. However, Jonathan got some attention after a few relatives came to tell their deceased about the wonderful things going on in Metropolis. The dead were a little more observant than the living, all turning to Jonathan Kent for an explanation. He didn't give one, choosing instead to wander out of the graveyard to his house; they didn't follow each other out of the graveyard.

- - -

Jonathan was bored. Overall, he was enjoying his death a lot more than the other people in the graveyard seemed to be. They looked nothing but sad, watching their loved ones come and talk to their headstones, sometimes going out into the world to watch important events in the lives of people they had once cared about, and then returning to the little patch of land that was slowly absorbing their physical forms. Jonathan, on the other hand, almost liked just being able to stand back and observe everything without having to make decisions or worry about running out of milk. There were days he hated not being able to talk to his loved ones, though. The day Martha had come to his grave to tell him Clark was gone, his birthday, deathday, and wedding anniversary when Martha would come and cry, the day Clark came to tell him he was going north.

He had watched Martha carefully, following her around for the entire first year Clark was gone. She'd taken it hard, her only son was gone and so was her husband. But now Clark was back even though he wasn't living at the farm anymore and Martha was ten times happier, and therefore, so was Jonathan. Her term had ended as senator and she didn't run again, choosing instead to go back to the farm and keep a closer eye on the hired help; she still had the spaceship hidden in their cellar to protect. Clark visited every once in awhile, calling even more often.

There was one thing Jonathan liked, above all, about being a ghost: he could watch everything and anything. He enjoyed movies with Martha on Saturday nights when she rented them, hovering in position as only ghosts could so that it almost felt like he was sitting on the couch next to her.

Deciding to use his 'condition' and do a little observing, Jonathan ventured out of Smallville, heading to Metropolis to see his son. Clark hadn't visited his grave since he'd arrived back from his Fortress in the north, and Jonathan was almost a little offended.

He arrived in Metropolis and headed for the _Daily Planet_, planning to start searching for his son's apartment from there. Luckily, he didn't have to. Following some weird ghost-sense, he turned a corner and saw Clark's tall form making his way through the crowd, slipping through spaces between other pedestrians with an ease men half his size had trouble accomplishing, all the while balancing two bulking bags of what smelled like Chinese take-out. _Hungry, there, son?_ He chuckled to himself.

Fourteen flights of stairs later, Clark was balancing both bags of food on one arm and fishing in his pocket for his keys. He had a corner apartment about four blocks from the _Planet_; one side facing the side alley, the other looking out over a busy street with a large park on the other side. _Nice place_, Jonathan would've commented if his son could hear him. Inside had a lived in feel that Jonathan wouldn't have expected from a man working as a reporter by day and acting as Superman by night. He'd expected a small place with a comfortable bed; instead, Clark had a one bedroom apartment with a large living space, huge windows on one wall giving a view of the park, and what seemed to be a well-stocked kitchen. His furniture looked comfortable, he had a very full DVD collection on the shelves near his TV, a blanket that looked like one of Martha's hanging over the back of the couch, and a surprising variety of tin signs on his wall. Jonathan chuckled, the sign hanging over the big window read 'I am not a hamster, and life is not a wheel.'

"I don't remember giving you a key," Clark said, addressing his living room that Jonathan had thought empty as he came out of the bedroom and jeans and a white t-shirt. For a moment Jonathan almost thought Clark had felt his presence, but then a familiar woman's voice answered from the living room.

"If it's one thing I've learned in my time as a journalist, it's how to pick a lock, Smallville," Lois said, walking into the kitchen and helping him unload the food.

"Who said this was for you?" Clark asked, glaring when she took two plates out of his cabinet and started filling one for herself.

"Even you can't eat this much food, Superman," Lois said, chuckling when he scowled at her.

"I still can't believe you _published_ that," he shook his head, handing her a beer from the fridge before helping himself to the Chinese.

"It had a good ring to it," Lois shrugged, smiling wickedly. "Anyway, what're we doing tonight?"

"Why do you assume _we_ are doing anything?"

"Because we always do something."

"That's just because you won't _leave_."

"That's because we always do something."

"Why do you even have your own apartment? You sleep on my couch more often than in your bed."

"Well, you have a comfortable couch."

"We could swap couches, if you'd like," he said almost hopefully.

"Nah, it's kind of a location thing," Clark sighed theatrically before they smiled at each other. Like it had been when they'd visited his grave together, Jonathan's mouth was hanging open. For two people who argued as much as these two, being complete opposites and seeming to live to get on the other's nerves, these two were practically living together.

"I really do wonder why you have your own apartment sometimes, Lois."

"I live there, Clark," she answered, rolling her eyes.

"Lois, we went grocery shopping together yesterday."

"Well, you never buy the right things."

"I buy just the right things for me at my apartment…"

"You need more than milk and meat."

"I don't just get milk and meat!"

"You do too."

"I get oatmeal, and eggs, and potatoes, and salad stuff, and oranges…"

"Only because I come with you and make you get them," she was smiling cruelly.

"Well, I could live on Twinkies just as well as I could live on that stuff," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but a good pot roast is _so _much better than a couple of Twinkies," she made a face, never having liked the deep fried marshmallows. "And neither of us likes Twinkies, for that matter."

"I was just making a point."

"Me too."

"And I'm always the one making the pot roast, too," Clark pointed out, scowling.

"Well, it's your apartment…" Clark balled up his napkin and tossed it at her, hitting her square in the forehead. They both chuckled before Clark realized he needed a new napkin, making Lois laugh harder when he got up to get one.

"I think you surprised Perry today," Lois commented while they cleaned up.

"What do you mean?"

"Right before we left," Lois reminded him, "when you actually talked back to me?"

"Oh yeah," Clark chuckled.

"I don't think he's ever heard you say anything for yourself… I don't think he's ever heard you say anything without stuttering…"

"Which is just the way it works," Clark pointed out. Lois gave him a sad look.

"It's annoying."

"What?"

"The stuttering, the pretending to be a klutz… you must go through a fortune in ties."

"What?"

"You dip them in your coffee every day, more than once- you must spend a fortune replacing them… Or is there some weird Kryptonian super-washing machine device that can remove a secret identity protecting coffee stain?"

"I wish," he chuckled. "Yes, I do spend a lot of money on ties."

"Well, at least you're not wearing plaid anymore," Lois pointed out.

"Ah, but I've still got it."

"Ah, but where has it gone?" Lois asked. He glared at her, glancing over her shoulder and x-raying his closet and finding all his plaid shirts missing.

"So now you're breaking into my apartment and stealing my shirts?"

"No, I didn't steal them…" Clark rolled his eyes, locating the wad of shirts thrown behind his couch just out of sight.

"You like throwing my clothes on the floor?"

"Nah, just like the look on your face when you thought your plaid was gone," they both chuckled, and Clark super-sped into the living room and put the shirts away. "It _is_ kind of annoying, you know."

"What?"

"The feigned klutzy-meekness."

"Well…"

"And those glasses you wear are way too big for your face," she said, pulling them off and folding them on the table between them.

"I know, you've said that before," he sighed, looking distastefully at the thick black frames with even thicker fake lenses on the table. "And, as I've said before, that's all just something I need to do now that, you know, _Superman_ is public."

"I know," she sighed. "Jimmy thinks I'm an awful person, though."

"Why?" Clark said, sounding surprised, as though this was a new extension to an old conversation.

"Cuz I always pick on you. He thinks I'm being too hard one you… he has no idea that you could even try to hold your own in an argument."

"I do believe I've won a few arguments at the office," Clark pointed out.

"Only because I let you."

"Yes, of course, that's probably it," Clark said, raising an eyebrow. Lois just scowled at him. "What do you think Perry thought of all that, though?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "He was pretty surprised when you didn't just slump your shoulders and apologize, though."

_What did he do?_ Jonathan wanted to scream at them.

"Well, I would've if I'd realized he was so close behind me."

"For Superman, you don't notice much. First Perry, then the shirts…"

"It's cuz you're around," he said without hesitation. It didn't sound accusing or sentimental, just a fact. "Trying to think of good comebacks occupies the part of my brain that's usually on 'scan for missing shirts I have no reason to believe are missing' mode."

Lois laughed at him, shaking her head. They were silent for a moment before she asked, "So what're we doing tonight?"

Jonathan shook his head, watching the pair of them. They were completely oblivious to the chemistry between them. Bickering like an old married couple, talking about people at work, sharing dinner.

- - -

Against his better judgment, Jonathan stayed in Metropolis and watched his son for almost a week. Lois was a constant presence at his apartment, eating his food, bickering with him, writing their articles late into the night. She was there when he stumbled in at two in the morning covered in soot, the blue suite he wore as Superman stained almost black from a fire in a distant place. She had been sound asleep on his couch but she was immediately awake, taking his hand and leading him into the bathroom and turning on the shower for him. She'd taken his boots and cape off before pushing him into the shower stall and closing the door. He'd taken a marathon shower that Lois would've made fun of four years ago, instead she got out a rag from the bottom drawer in the kitchen and scrubbed the boots clean, shaking the cape over the balcony before running the vacuum over it.

"You're vacuuming my cape?" Clark asked, walking into the living room while she was at it. He was in his pajamas, the flannel bottoms and white shirt he'd been wearing a night that seemed only days ago when Lois had consoled him about bad dreams in the Kent kitchen, his suit in his hands. The suit was clean, only a few dark smudges remained, and it wasn't even dripping.

"It's working, isn't it?" Lois asked, turning the vacuum off and flapping the cape out over the balcony again. She held it up and she was right, it had worked. Clark just nodded silently; bickering would be too hard at this late hour after the fire. "What happened?"

"There was a fire."

"I figured that."

"At an orphanage," he wouldn't look at her, but she didn't seem to care. She shoved him down on the couch, taking the suit from him and hooking the cape back into place before tossing the whole suit onto one of the recliners. She sat down next to him, folding her legs beneath her and holding onto his arm.

"It's good you were there to help, then."

"I didn't get there in time."

"What do you mean?"

"Three of them died."

"Out of how many?" He didn't look at her, focusing on the three he had lost. "How many, Clark?" She asked more forcefully.

"Forty."

"That means you _saved_ thirty-seven."

"But I lost three."

"You can't save everybody, Clark, you know that."

"But still," Lois just shook her head, pulling him closer.

They sat like that all night, Lois eventually falling asleep using his shoulder as a pillow. Clark stared at the brightly colored suit on the coffee table long after she'd drifted off. Eventually he drifted off too, though, leaving Jonathan to watch them and ponder what he'd heard.

Martha dropped by three days after Clark had stumbled in so early. Jonathan had been thinking about heading back to the graveyard, feeling like some sort of stalker for watching his son's life so closely. His wife's presence made him need to stay.

"Lois you are, by far, the _worst_ speller I have ever come across," Clark said, chuckling as he read a draft of their next article. Lois huffed at him from across the room where she was typing up a revision of a second article on her laptop.

"Well, I have to give you _something_ to do," she retorted as a knock came from the front door. "Expecting somebody?"

"No," Clark said, frowning and focusing on the door. "It's Mom!"

"Do you want me to go?" Lois asked, already closing down the application on her laptop.

"No, of course not," Clark said, walking over to the door without bothering to put his glasses on. "Hi Mom!" He said, opening the door to reveal a tired looking Martha Kent.

"Hi Clark, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she trailed off, looking behind him but not seeing Lois. "I was just in town and I thought I'd swing by."

"Of course," Clark said, opening the door wider to let her in. "Lois and I were just finishing up with our work. Lois still cannot spell worth anything."

"I can too!" Lois's voice came from the next room. "I just choose not to… Gotta keep you sharp, Smallville."

Martha sighed, chuckling. "I see you two are still at it."

"When are we not?" Clark asked, sounding annoyed at Lois.

Jonathan stayed until Martha left town two days later. He rode in the passenger seat of the truck with her, singing along to the old country songs she played the entire drive and wishing she could hear him and yell at him to stop. He was always off-key, even in death, and he'd loved how she would groan about it.

- - -

It was years before he saw Lois again.

Clark came every so often, even dropping by in his Superman costume once in the dead of night. He'd looked sad, obviously having just witnessed another tragedy that hadn't gone the way he'd have liked. Jonathan wished he was able to tell him to get out of the suit, hadn't he taught him to be more careful about his secret? What would people, especially the press, do to Martha if they found Superman staring at her dead husband's grave? He was gone in the next instant, though, and Jonathan was alone with the other ghosts in the graveyard looking at him with awe.

Lois came about two months after Clark's final visit. Jonathan hadn't known when Clark had taken off that he was leaving the planet.

It was snowing that day, Lois was in tears, pulling up in her blue rental car and barely taking the time to put it in park and pull out the keys before she fell to her knees in the same spot Clark had last stood. Jonathan looked at her carefully, there was something different about her besides the fact that _Lois Lane_ was openly _sobbing_ over his headstone.

She wore jeans that were loose, a thick, dark coat that came down to her knees with a colorful scarf tucked into the neck, and a matching hat. Her hair was curly and frizzy like she had gotten out of the shower, put the hat on, and rushed out the door. She also seemed to have gained the slightest bit of weight.

Jonathan stood by her, his hand hovering over her back as he tried to comfort her in his invisible way, wishing Clark would swoop down in that ridiculous cape of his and take her in his arms, kiss her forehead like he had in the graveyard once, and wipe away her mascara tainted tears.

"Hey, Mr. Kent," Lois finally got out, her sobs subsiding as she straightened a little but did not get off her knees.

"Hey, Lois," Jonathan responded even though she couldn't hear him.

"I have something important to tell you," she gulped and wiped at her cheek again even though she'd rubbed away all moisture, leaving a dark, drying smudge behind. "Clark's gone."

"What do you mean _gone_?" He said, barely above a whisper.

"He left for Krypton last month," tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. "He only told Martha and me, everybody else is wondering where Superman went… they can't figure out why he would desert us like that."

"Why _would_ he?!" Jonathan's voice was way above a whisper now.

"Astronomers thought they found it," Lois continued. "He and I talked about it for a long time. He was just curious at first, but I could tell he was itching to just _see_ the place. He has so many questions that nobody can answer, not even the AI at the north pole," she refused to acknowledge Jor-El as Clark's father when at Jonathan's grave, or call the ice palace his Fortress of Solitude like Jonathan had called Clark's loft. "Recently he's been feeling so… different from everybody. Completely separate. There's nothing anybody can do about it either," she chuckled. "I think his biological clock has been bothering him."

"What the hell does that mean?" Jonathan asked. Usually 'biological clock' was a term used for women reaching the end of their child-bearing years.

"He wants somebody like him, he doesn't want to be alone, almost as much as he just wants family," she wiped at her cheeks again. "That's the other thing that's bothering me, though," her voice caught in her throat. "I'm pregnant, Mr. Kent, and its Clark's baby beyond a doubt."

"What?!" Jonathan asked, doing the granddaddy dance from his place beside her for a brief moment before everything rushed back into place. Lois is pregnant with Clark's child. Lois and Clark aren't married. Clark is heading for a distant planet in a distant galaxy with no way to contact him. He looked at Lois carefully again. The baby would explain the slight weight gain, and the distraught tension in her face.

"I'm glad," she said after a moment, startling Jonathan. "I wouldn't want to have anybody else's child; the thing is… we didn't think it was possible so we didn't even think to… Clark doesn't know. He didn't know when he left. I know he never would've left me here with something like this…" she wiped at the tears again. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Kent. I haven't told anybody else yet. I'm on my way to tell your wife, actually. I'm not sure how she'll react, but… she needs to know. I need her to know. You two are the only ones who've ever raised a child with… special abilities before that I know, and, well, I just need the support. I don't know if Clark is coming back. It's a possibility that there are a bunch of Kryptonian survivors waiting to welcome the son of Jor-El," she said the name like it tasted bitter passing by her tongue and Jonathan felt the same way, "back into the fold. Or there could be only the remains of the planet; possibly, probably lots of kryptonite. Or he could just turn around and come home, nothing there, a couple of years wasted on travel time… I don't know what's going to happen. I just…" she fell silent and didn't say anything else after that. She just sat there, still on her folded knees. She wasn't crying anymore, but her face was awash with emotion.

"Take some ibuprofen and lie down," Jonathan suggested, watching her scrub at her temples as she prepared to leave. He knew if he'd been alive he'd have a whopper of a migraine with everything he'd just been told rumbling around inside his head.

Martha came to visit a week later. It was still snowing, but not nearly as heavily as during Lois' visit. Martha seemed to be moving in slow motion. She slowly drove up, parked the car, closed the door lightly behind her, stood at the foot of his grave as though standing over his body might offend him, and stared at the headstone for a few long minutes.

"Lois told me she came to see you to tell you… about everything," Martha said. Her voice didn't waver but Jonathan knew it wanted to. "Clark's been such an idiot."

"He sure has," Jonathan said, finding himself laughing for the first time in years.

"Lois said she's going to wait for him," that stopped Jonathan's laughter. "I'm glad she is, happy she's willing to do that for Clark, but… the baby is going to need a father of some sort eventually. Lois could be waiting for _years_ without Clark. It took him almost three years to get here according to the information he got, so the child will be six years old by the time he meets it! That's going into first grade, Jonathan! Imagine not knowing your own father until you were starting grade school!" She as appalled, having had a very close relationship with her own father his entire life. "She's due in early August. She doesn't have any names picked out; she's too overwhelmed right now, and… I think she's hoping Clark will be back before then and he'll have ideas," Martha shrugged, trailing off.

She went on to tell him about the plans the two of them had come up with. They'd told the world that Clark had gone on a soul searching expedition around the world and would probably be out of contact for a number of years. Lois didn't tell anybody who the father of her child was. The media seemed to decide she was carrying the child of Superman until she reminded them that he was an alien and probably biologically incompatible with humans. Her coworkers at the _Planet_ seemed to think she'd been the victim of a one night stand. Lois let them think what they wanted. Nobody at the office knew how close she and Clark really were; only Perry and Jimmy knew that they'd met at Smallville High, and only Perry knew that Clark dared rebut Lois' sarcastic commentary when he thought nobody was listening.

Jonathan trailed after Martha in the following months, not feeling comfortable going to Metropolis to watch over Lois. Instead, he just listened in on the phone calls Martha received almost nightly. Lois explained via the phone that she was avoiding Smallville more out of concern for her unborn child than anything else; Smallville held the greatest quantity of kryptonite in all varieties of any place on Earth. Nobody could be certain the affects it would have on the unborn child of a man who got very sick whenever he was exposed to it. Jonathan felt a little better at that. Despite all the anger Lois should rightfully feel towards his son she was still holding on to the hope that he would come back and everything would be okay.

Lois called Martha one afternoon in early June near panic. "It's going to be on the front page!" She sobbed, not saying anything intelligible for another twenty minutes while Martha tried to figure out what was so wrong about one of Lois' articles being front page worthy. Two days later "Why the World Doesn't Need Superman" appeared on the front page of the _Daily Planet_. Lois called back that evening, not saying anything. Martha and Lois sat on the line in complete silence for a good half an hour before either spoke.

"You have every right to be angry at him, Lois," Martha assured her, reading the first few lines of the article again.

"That's the thing," Lois sobbed. "I'm _not_ angry at him. I understand why he left, I understand… He didn't know about any of this and I certainly don't blame him," she sighed heavily. "I just wish he would hurry back, there're only a few months left and I really want him to be there and… These damn hormones. It was just a mood swing, or something. I wrote that whole thing caught up in emotions amplified by hormones and then I got hit by morning sickness and I got even angrier because he wasn't there to hold my hair back or anything and then I emailed it off to Perry and went to bed and then I woke up…" she was crying again.

"Lois, honey, do you want me to come to Metropolis, help you out?" Martha offered, folding the paper and brining it out to the barn where she was keeping all the issues of the _Planet_ Clark was missing, taking the cordless with her.

"No, no thanks," Lois said shakily. "I'm okay, I just… I didn't want you to read it and think I'm really mad at him, or something."

"Even if you were you have every right to be," Martha assured her.

"Are _you_ mad at him, Martha?" Lois asked, startling the older woman into a contemplative silence.

"I'm worried about him," Martha admitted. "I know the technology he has makes space travel perfectly safe, but there is probably a lot of kryptonite waiting for him at his destination, and if… _when_ he comes back there's going to be so much that's different- he's never been good at accepting change," she sighed. "He's going to mad enough at himself for leaving that I don't need to be mad at him too."

"I miss him," Lois admitted on the other end.

"Me too, dear."

July rolled around and Jonathan followed Martha to Metropolis She showed up on Lois' doorstep one evening and didn't let the younger woman talk her out of leaving with lame excuses about being fine. Two weeks later, Lois went into labor.

Once again, Jonathan found himself yearning for some sort of ghost manual. Would he jinx the kid's life by being at the birthing? A dead man watching somebody come into life? It's not like it was the conception after all, when life really started… He thrust those thoughts from his head, figuring his father would show up and order him away if he did anything inappropriate.

Jason Jonathan Lane was born in the wee hours of the morning on July 29th. He was a few weeks premature, worrying the doctors and his mother and grandmother. Clark's name was put on the birth certificate, but Lois was sure to have it filed away before anybody other than Martha showed up for a visit. Martha was hovering around Lois the way Jonathan had always known she'd hover over the woman who bore Clark's children. Of course, he'd never been certain she'd have grandchildren due to Clark's foreign heritage, but he'd always known how she'd react in this scenario.

The early months with Jason were a trial. There were multiple small ailments that seemed to attack him all at once. Lois removed all the curtains from her apartment, holding the child to her and sitting in the sunlight for long hours in hopes of the boy taking after his father. It seemed to work, he got better. Martha explained that young Clark had been strangely affected by things on the new planet; they'd guessed his body was just adjusting to the new place, but that didn't explain much for Jason.

His first birthday passed and they seemed to be out of the woods. Lois brought Jason to Smallville for a small birthday party with his secret grandmother. The young boy had never seemed healthier than when he was sitting in the high chair in the afternoon sunlight, silently watching his grandmother make cookies. Jonathan couldn't help but smile. He'd never met a quieter baby, but Clark had had his share of mysterious silences as a young boy too.

Second birthday passed, this time in Metropolis. Martha wasn't able to take time away from the farm, sending the birthday present by mail with a glittery card and calling that evening. Jonathan made the trip, though. The farm would be okay without the ghost of its former master watching over his wife as she reprimanded the farm hands she'd caught stealing parts from the equipment. Those men were carted off to jail after paying Martha quite a sum, but leaving her a few short for the chores. The party was a quiet one. The boy didn't really get what was going on just yet, he mumbled, some words still in his own language and most that Lois had taught him, through the evening as he tore at the colorful paper and unwrapped new toys.

Lois seemed to enjoy her life as a single parent. Before Jason turned three, she took the position of Assistant Editor when Perry offered, both of them knowing she wasn't up to risking her life for a story like she'd once been. She still went out on the beat every now and again, but she never stayed past six, when the daycare she sent Jason to every morning closed for the night. Sometimes she would bring Jason back to the bullpen with her to finish up after taking him out to dinner. The boy would sit on her couch in her office and doodle, mostly pictures of the Green Arrow or some other superhero he'd heard about, some even of Superman though he'd never met his father. When Lois saw the pictures he drew of Superman she would almost tear up, blinking rapidly and smiling widely so as not to alarm her son. He was a few months past four years old when he started asking questions about the MIA super-dude.

"Where did he go?" Jason asked such night, sitting on her couch at the _Planet_ after finishing a sketchy drawing of a dark haired man in a bright red (fire engine red, according to the Crayola company) cape. Lois looked at him carefully for a minute.

"He had to go see if his planet was okay," Lois said softly. She'd never admitted to anybody other than Martha that she knew where the mysterious superhero had gone.

"Why?"

"Well, he came here when he was very young and he was told that his planet was destroyed," she explained carefully. "People here thought they found it on a telescope and he hoped that it wasn't gone… he just had to go see for himself."

"He wanted to save people there instead of here?"

"I don't know sweety," she said softly. Jonathan smiled, nobody could ever understand Clark's hero complex, even those who knew him as closely as Lois. His head twitched to the side, noticing the man standing in the doorway that neither of the living occupants had seen yet.

"Is he coming back?"

"I hope so," Lois sighed.

"When?"

"It takes a couple of years to get to his planet and back," Lois said softly. It was more like she was trying to explain it to herself than her son. "He could be back very soon, or not for a very long time."

"Why?"

"Things can hurt him in space."

"I thought he was invulnable."

"Invulnerable," Lois corrected, nodding. "But only on Earth."

"So he could die befoe he gets back?"

"I don't think he will, honey, don't worry."

"Was he your friend, Mommy? I heard Uncle Jimmy say that he talked to you a lot," Jason had a spark in his eye that reminded Jonathan of Lois when she was going in for the kill during an interview.

"Yes, he was my friend," Lois said, not even willing to tell her child just how close of friends they had really been.

"Did he ever save you?"

"He saved me lots of times," Lois said, nostalgic. Jonathan wanted to jump up and down and wave his hands in front of her face to keep her from continuing like her facial expression told him she would be. The Editor-in-Chief standing in her doorway was looking on curiously, not wanting to interrupt and miss hearing the story.

"Is that how you met him?"

"No," she chuckled, "I met him a long time before he was Superman."

"Really?" Jason asked, sitting up really straight and letting his drawings fall to the floor. Perry had jerked a little, too; his star reporter had been sitting on the story of the century for what turned out to be years and he hadn't had a clue.

Jonathan was now jumping up and down and waving his arms, trying to get Lois' attention so that he could alert her to Perry's presence. Lois smiled and nodded at her son, seeming to decide to change the topic; secrets like that aren't shared with four year olds.

"Chief," she said in surprise, turning to find her editor staring at her with excited disbelief.

"Why didn't you tell me any of that?" He asked, sounding almost a little angry, but then, Perry made it a practice to always sound a little angry; he was, however, smiling broadly.

"Um," Lois said, shifting uncomfortably before bending down to help her son gather his drawings together as they prepared to leave for the night. "Well, chief, uh- he's my friend. It's his secret."

"It's the story of the century!"

"It's also his life," Lois said almost a little coldly, making Perry's smile falter. "How would he be able to live normally," she chuckled at the word; Clark's life was never normal, "if people knew who he was?"

"Do I know him?" Perry asked, the gears could be seen turning behind his eyes. Lois' face became guarded.

"No, Perry, you don't," she said softly. She sounded honest; her ability to lie surprised Jonathan. "He kept to himself," that much was at least true. Perry was looking at her uncertainly, but he didn't seem to be able to see through her lies.

"Why didn't you tell the world where he went? That he planned to come back?"

"Because he asked me not to," she said quietly, moving a little closer to the editor so her son wouldn't be able to hear her next words. "He wasn't sure if he'd be coming back, so…"

"Oh," Perry suddenly looked a lot more worried. "Well, your article was right, Lois, we don't need Superman to," he faltered when he saw the look on her face. He looked like he was going to ask her another question but she just shook her head, helping her son into his jacket and grabbing her purse.

"See you tomorrow, Chief," she slipped past the editor and continued on her way out. Jonathan stayed put, listening to her heals clack against the floor on her way to the elevator in the same way Perry White was. The editor seemed frozen for a moment before he closed the door and returned to his own office.

Jonathan spent that night following, haunting really, Perry White. It was strange to be around somebody he didn't consider family, but he thought of it as protecting his son's secret. The editor in chief didn't seem to be trying to pry into Lois' story or anything; he went about his business, finishing up what was expected of him as editor before calling his wife and heading home. Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief and let his ties to Smallville lure him back home.

He was enjoying a peaceful night sitting on his headstone, watching the ghosts from the late 1800s play cards on a tall tombstone when the sky was filled with fiery light and a thunderous sound.

"_Another_ meteor shower?" Mrs. Lang asked; she and Mr. Lang were out of the cemetery, headed for their daughter's coffee shop, before the fireball had properly passed overhead.

Jonathan watched the thing fall from the sky with some worry; it was headed straight for the Kent farm. There was an echoing crash and then the fire died from the sky, just a faint glow catching wafting smoke on the horizon. Jonathan was on his feet headed towards the farm even before he'd realized it. He wasn't sure how he'd feel if the meteor had killed Martha. It would be great to be seen by her and talk to her after all these years, but Lois needed her and Clark would need her when he came back, because he was coming back. Her life wasn't over yet. He was relieved, therefore, when he realized the meteor had overshot the farm and landed in the next field over. The field was empty this season, meaning only rocks and a few tall stands of grass had been disturbed.

Martha already had the truck out and was driving towards the burning mass in the field. Jonathan wished he could warn her against it, but knew he'd be doing the same thing if he was alive. She stumbled upon Clark not five minutes later, dragging him back to the truck and getting him into his childhood bedroom without any trouble, a feat nobody would have guessed she was capable of.

Jonathan watched her pace the night away. Clark slept, seemingly comatose. Martha paced the length of the living room, then the kitchen, then she went up and checked on him, letting Shelby in to visit. She dialed Lois' number twice and hung up both times. The first time, she mumbled about it being too early, the second time she decided she wouldn't bother the young woman until she had something good to report.

"Clark is back! How is that not something good?" Jonathan asked, shaking his head as she busied herself in the kitchen. She cleaned away her meal from the previous evening on autopilot before her nervous habit of cooking kicked in. She made all of Clark's favorites, pie in three varieties, a chocolate cake, chocolate chip cookies; she mixed a salad and stuck it in the fridge with a full bottle of ranch dressing close at hand, and pulled out meat from the freezer to thaw, probably for burritos.

About twenty minutes till sunrise the night seemed to catch up to her. She stared at her sleeping son for a few minutes before collapsing onto her bed, sound asleep before her head even touched the pillow.

Clark woke less than an hour after his mother fell asleep, jerking upright in bed before relaxing when he realized he was home. "You're home, you're safe," Jonathan told him, wanting to give him a hug. He'd never seen his son look so panicked as the moment he'd sat up in bed. Shelby seemed to be thinking the same thing, pushing up against his thigh and refusing to move. The dog's presence seemed to be comforting enough, and Clark rested a hand on the aging dog's back as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Clark smiled his trademark grin when he saw the assortment of favorites waiting for him downstairs. "Thanks Mom," Clark chuckled, looking up at the ceiling. Jonathan could only assume that he was watching his mother sleep. Admittedly, this was the soundest sleep Jonathan had witnessed in the house since Clark left.

Clark at half of the chocolate chip cookies and all the salad for breakfast. Shelby looked at him jealously until he filled her bowl as well. They ate in companionable silence; the dog didn't seem to blame him for leaving. Clark was dressed and outside before 5:30am, almost as though he had never left the farm. He buried his ship in the field deep enough so that it wouldn't be found unless somebody went to dig a well or something. When he was finished it looked like somebody had tilled the field instead of crashed a spaceship into it. He watched the sunrise and played a brief, very brief, game of fetch with his dog. He threw the ball too hard, probably launching it into Wyoming, after only a few fetches. Shelby scowled at him just like she always did when Clark accidentally used his gifts, and Clark laughed out loud.

"Some things never change, eh?" He said to the dog softly, almost regretfully.

"You don't know nothin' yet," Jonathan wasn't able to keep from smiling.

Martha was awake when Clark reentered the farm house. She was looking, bewildered, at the mess in her kitchen. First she didn't seem to remember making any of the dishes she found lying out, then she was confused about the used dishes soaking in the sink, and then it all seemed to hit her. She was staring at the plate of cookies disapprovingly when Clark walked in.

"I thought we taught you better than to eat cookies for breakfast," Martha said accusingly, glaring at her son across the room. Clark just shrugged.

"I had the salad first, if it makes you feel any better."

They stared at each other for a moment. "Oh honey," Martha finally broke coming around the table to fall into her son's arms. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry for leaving, I…" he trailed off, just holding her.

- - -

Clark was scheduled to leave for Metropolis in a few short hours. Martha was checking and rechecking everything she had packed for him: he was wearing the Superman suit underneath his usual clothes, everything else was packed into two overlarge suitcases and a small briefcase, he'd been fed and watered and was all set to fly off again. They had tried to call Lois, Martha wanting to give the younger woman warning before the father of her child who didn't even know it was biologically possible for him to have children flew back into her life. Unfortunately, Lois wasn't in at the office and her cell phone was off, Martha hadn't been able to ascertain the reason.

Jonathan left before his son did, deciding to get to Lois first and will her to have a premonition about Clark's return, give her a good feeling about the day, anything he could get.

He was surprised to find her miles above the planet's surface in a new-age jet that had a rocket riding piggyback. Jonathan immediately had a bad feeling about the setup, but he couldn't warn anybody. He wondered if all ghosts got that tingling sensation at the nape of their necks when the living were chancing joining them in the next stage of life.

Within twenty minutes, and EMP had knocked out all electrical systems onboard, causing multiple miniature disasters. The rocket had engaged and the plane was still attached, both of them ascending higher into the sky. Inside, Jonathan was panicking as he watched Lois foolishly unbuckle her seatbelt to help the woman who had been speaking into a seat. Of course, that left Lois without a seat and the seatbelt that would protect her should she finally find one.

And then Clark was there.

Jonathan was breathing again, even though he didn't really need to breathe. Lois had found herself a chair and was staring out the window hard; she'd caught a glimpse of Superman flying by early on but she couldn't quite believe it, though the rapid slowing of their descent proved first that Superman was present, and second that she wouldn't be able to see him because he was at the nose of the plane.

"Is everyone alright?" Clark's voice rang through the enclosed space soon after he'd torn the door off its hinges to gain entrance. Clark honed in on Lois, making eye contact and his voice softening, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Lois, who had risen to her feet, said before dropping back into her chair. Clark looked at her for another second, worry etched into his features, before he schooled his face and gave a small smile.

"Well, I hope this experience hasn't put any of you off flying- statistically speaking, it's still the safest way to travel," the people in the plane were nodding agreement, awed by his presence. Jonathan couldn't help but laugh. Lois was sitting there looking shell-shocked; Clark gave her one more worried glance before returning to the door. He stood there for a second, taking in the crowd's response, before disappearing into the afternoon sky. Lois was at the door suddenly, as though his disappearance had brought the stability back to her knees. She watched him disappear before fainting.

_Lois Lane just _fainted_ because she saw my son_, Jonathan chuckled before sliding down the bright yellow mat to make sure she was really okay.

It was getting on into the late evening when Lois finally returned to the _Planet_. Jonathan had watched over her. She was eager to get back to the office, but her reporter's instincts, and the fact that her editor would kill her if she didn't get a few interviews out of the experience, kept her late into the afternoon and then she'd had to get a flight back to Metropolis. Jonathan wasn't sure he'd have had the guts to get on a plane again so soon after surviving a crash.

He reached the bullpen before she did, ghosting through the walls and ceilings until he reached the proper place in space. Clark was at his desk, finishing off a small piece about the EMP, but also glancing expectantly at the elevator doors every few seconds. No doubt he'd heard Lois' approaching heartbeat.

The woman in question flew across the bullpen a few seconds later, heading straight for Perry's office without pausing to look around her. Perry seemed to have been waiting for this, shooing the other occupants out as soon as the elevator opened. She slammed her completed article titled 'Superman Returns' onto the editor's desk and waited for him to say something.

"Are you okay?" Lois seemed surprised to find that the aging man cared.

"I'm fine," she said curtly, Perry was already scanning the article on his desk.

"This is good, Lane," he glanced up. "I don't care what you say, though, I want you to go home, relax; Lucy still has your little boy, she called and told me she'd keep him for the rest of the weekend. Take tomorrow morning off. I don't want to see you until the afternoon issue conference."

"Sure, Chief," she said grumpily, knowing better than to argue with him. He was older than her and just as stubborn, only he had the power to enforce his decisions.

"Lois!" Richard White burst into the office, throwing his arms around her before she could get away. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lois said, disentangling herself from the man with barely disguised displeasure. "I'm just gonna… Clark!" She threw herself at the man who had just walked in the door. Jonathan couldn't help but smile.

Lois had her arms wound around Clark's neck so tightly that she could've supported herself there, but Clark's arms were around her waist like they had never left, the story he'd finished in one hand; he'd brought it in to drop it off as an excuse to see Lois sooner. While the pair of them were hugging like there was no tomorrow, Perry looked on with surprise, not remembering them being so close. Richard looked more than a little jealous at the other man's warm welcome.

Lois finally seemed to notice what they were doing and who was looking (they'd drawn the attention of more than a few people outside the glass-walled office) and let go of Clark's neck. He squeezed her waist gently one more time before setting her on the ground. "Are you okay?" He asked again, his eyes full of worry.

"I'm fine, Smallville," she said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "And you owe me dinner," she added before walking out of the office as though she'd seen him yesterday afternoon. She strode across the bullpen to her desk and gathered her things, putting on her coat before dropping into Clark's chair to wait for him.

"Uh," Clark said, turning back to the men in the room. "Here's that story about the EMP, Chief," she handed the story over. Perry looked it over before setting it on the desk on top of Lois'.

"It'll do, Kent," he said, glancing at Lois outside.

"I, uh, I think I'll head out then, Chief- I guess I owe her dinner," he shrugged. Perry just nodded as Clark left the room.

Lois picked up not only her purse, but one of Clark's suitcases when he had his coat on and was ready to leave the building. "Lois?" He asked her, startled at the gesture.

"You obviously haven't found a place to live yet, so you're staying with me," she told him. No doubt that was her subtle way of telling him that she had no hard feelings about his departure and that she wasn't letting him get away this time. Clark just nodded, taking the suitcase from her and hefting both of them easily. Lois rolled her eyes at the display before punching the button of the elevator.

The ride to Lois' new, larger, apartment was awkward. Lois didn't seem to want to talk, probably waiting for the right moment to tell him about his son, and Clark most likely didn't have a clue what to say to her.

Before long they were in her small foyer, his coat hanging on the rack next to hers, his shoes under the bench next to hers, his suitcases stuck behind the couch, and both of them just standing there. Jonathan could feel the awkwardness rolling off them in waves.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Lois asked, reminding him of Martha.

"It was a graveyard," Clark said, barely hesitating.

"Are you okay?" He looked at her, calculating, before responding.

"It was all kryptonite. It was a year of hell during the time that I was in range," he admitted. Lois looked worried again.

"Are you okay?" She repeated.

"I'm home," he answered. She smiled, some of the tension leaving.

"It's about time," she sighed, leaning into his chest as they embraced again. Clark seemed to sense that there was something off, his eyes roaming the apartment through the walls as he held her.

"So… what did I miss?" He asked. Jonathan didn't doubt that he had seen Jason's bedroom only a few rooms away. "Met anyone? Got any pets I should know about?"

Lois was silent, looking up at him for a moment before she took his face in her hands and brought it down to meet hers. "I already know someone, and I'm allergic to pets except for fish, who smell bad, and birds, who make to much noise."

"You… really?" He asked, seeming to be completely taken off guard. That was expected, though; if he'd seen Jason's room there had to be a father somewhere.

"I missed you," Lois said softly before bringing her lips to meet his again. After a moment's hesitation, Clark returned the kiss in earnest. Jonathan wandered off to get a better look at the apartment, definitely not needing to see that part of the relationship even if he was glad it was there.

- - -

Jonathan left the apartment soon afterwards, heading back to Smallville. "You owe me dinner" had obviously been code for "I'll make sandwiches after you make love to me." He certainly didn't need to stick around for that; they obviously had things under control, even though Clark seemed beyond confused about Jason's bedroom.

"Poor kid, he never can figure those human women out," Jonathan chuckled on his way home, wondering idly if his son would've been any better with Kryptonian women and deciding that he probably wouldn't. He was Clark, after all.

Clark visited less than a week later, pacing back and forth in front of his headstone in the dead of night. "I can't believe I left," he muttered over and over again. "I can't believe she took me back after… I can't believe I left."

"Gol, Clark," Jonathan said after an hour of pacing, interrupted only by cries for help that Jonathan couldn't hear. "Relax, would you? You're going to dig a hole down to my decaying body if you don't stop with the pacing."

Clark seemed to hear him, stopping the pacing soon after it was stead in favor of standing and staring at the headstone intensely. "I swear, Clark, if you set the tombstone on fire…" Jonathan chided, smirking to himself.

"I can't believe I have a son," Clark shook his head, his face clearly written with that disbelief. "I can't believe Lois had my son…"

- - -

Jonathan attended the wedding four months later. He stuck to the walls and places where the guests weren't as thickly packed, noticing the shivers he caused when he accidentally brushed past or through them. Lois was beautiful in the white gown with a crimson sash, slightly darker than the cape her fiancé wore when he saved the world

The speeches were the most entertaining part of the wedding. Jimmy Olsen, the best man, was still, surprisingly, entirely in the dark about the depth and length of Lois and Clark's relationship. "I didn't know you could even stand each other until the rehearsal dinner," he admitted, making everybody laugh. Lois and Clark had practically bickered their way to the altar and down the aisle as man and wife.

"You've been a Kent since high school, and you know it," Chloe, who had come out of hiding to be matron of honor (Jonathan wasn't sure who she'd married, but she had quite the ring on her finger).

"Hear, hear," Jonathan had found himself saying, agreeing completely with the woman's statement.

He couldn't help but laugh when he saw Jason darting between the guests with agility that almost gave away his parentage. That and the part where anybody who went to pinch his cheek seemed to bruise their fingers.

Jonathan had the pleasure of watching his wife and grandson interact for a week and a half while Lois and Clark were on their honeymoon cruise in the Caribbean. Jason was so like Clark and he knew Martha could see it too. He caught her watching him sleep like she had watched Clark sleep right after he'd come to them. He wished he could reach out and comfort her, hearing her muttering little phrases to him, wishing he was there, almost like she knew he was watching over her.

- - -

Martha died four years later. Jonathan was almost ashamed to admit that it was the happiest day of his death.

She went peacefully in her sleep just like he'd always wanted for her. No pain, nothing violent; no guilt for Clark about not being able to save her. Clark, Lois, Jason, and the two year old Laura were visiting when it happened. Martha had seemed to know that she was going to go soon, calling her family close and saying goodnight like she was saying goodbye. Clark had seemed to know, too. He stood in her doorway, watching her sleep like she had once watched him sleep. She'd woken up and smiled at him before rolling over and drifting off again, never to wake up.

Jonathan had been there, of course. It was an odd thing to watch. Her spirit seemed to drift up out of her body, floating above it, still slumbering. Then it vanished. Jonathan had panicked for a moment before he remembered his own death; he hadn't been able to come back until his funeral. Relaxing, he watched over her body until Clark found it the next morning.

His son bit his lip, kneeling next to the bed and holding his mother's hand. He knew she was dead; he had probably heard her heartbeat slow to a stop in the night and known it had been her time. There were silent tears on his cheeks as he covered his mother's body with the sheet she'd fallen asleep under before going downstairs to call the proper authorities and the funeral home.

Superman disappeared from the world. Jonathan had been astonished when Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne had showed up in Smallville to pay their respects, and even more surprised when he heard what they were saying to him. Apparently, they were the Green Arrow and Batman, Superman's closest friends within the Justice League, and they were promising to keep Metropolis safe until he had had his time in Smallville. A few other almost recognizable faces showed up too, offering sympathy and not staying for very long. He saw the Flash, Aquaman, Cyborg, Wonder Woman, the Martian Manhunter, all coming incognito. He hadn't realized that they knew each other outside the spandex.

Martha materialized as the funeral started. He watched her, she didn't see him yet. He stood back as he had grown accustomed to doing, watching the commotion next to his own grave from the tall tombstone where the 1800s men would be playing cards in a few hours. She looked just like she had on the day he died: her auburn hair as vibrant as he remembered it, her face unmarked by time but for a few extra laugh lines; it was strange to see her like this after growing accustomed to watching the older version of her for so long.

She stood in silence much as he had, watching her son and his family grieve. Lois and Clark stood hand in hand to the right of the priest saying the final prayers. Friends and family were gathered around; most of the town seemed to have turned out. Chloe had come out of hiding again and was holding Bruce Wayne's hand as she cried. Lana Lang was there as well, alone; she was married, but she and her husband had given the rest of their employees at the Talon the day off to come to the funeral and he was keeping the place going, not having known Martha as well as most. Jason and Laura, who had always been extremely close to their grandmother, weren't taking it well. Laura was in her father's arms, crying hard, while Jason clung to his mother's hand like it was the only thing left in life.

The coffin slowly lowered into the earth and the crowd slowly dispersed, exactly like they had at his funeral. Chloe and Bruce came over and took the children, squeezing hands and saying soothing words through their own tears. Laura had fallen asleep sometime during the prayer and was gently taken off her father, but Jason was still clinging to Lois and it took Bruce almost a minute to talk him into giving his parents a private moment to say goodbye.

When everybody was gone, Lois leaned against Clark, letting her tears fall a little freer. Clark let go of her hand, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer instead. Jonathan looked into his son's eyes from across the cemetery and saw deep loss there. Clark was going to have a long life; longer than anybody else. It was more than likely he would outlive his children even though they shared his Kryptonian genes. Jonathan could see that his son knew this as Clark pulled Lois closer still, as though if he loosened his grip she might join the ranks of the dead before she was ready. Lois seemed to know what he was thinking as well, looking up at him with sad eyes before wrapping her arms around his waist and putting her head on his chest, letting him hold her and holding him right back.

They stood there for almost an hour. The cold of the approaching winter and the chilled prairie wind that was bringing it didn't seem to bother them, but then, Superman was never bothered by temperature extremes and he seemed to be keeping Lois warm enough. Finally, the pair of them walked away. They said their quiet goodbyes and I love yous before walking through the cemetery hand in hand. They had put white roses on Martha's coffin before it was lowered, and now they put a pair near Jonathan's headstone as well; that was when Martha noticed him.

She froze. Jonathan was watching Lois and Clark leave, driving slowly away in the same old, beat-up truck Martha and Jonathan had been driving the day Clark found them. Slowly, he turned to face her, wearing a sad smile.

"Jonathan," she whispered, taking a few steps toward him. He walked toward her, meeting halfway and pulling her into his arms. "God, I missed you."

"I've always been right here," he whispered back, inhaling the scent of her hair. It hadn't changed a bit from his memory.

"You have?" She sounded surprised.

"Well, not right here, right here," he said, cupping her face in his hands. "I've been watching. And listening. Waiting."

"Jonathan," she sighed again, seeming completely content. "I missed you so much."

"Me too," he whispered back.

They seemed to stand there forever, and they probably could have. They were interrupted near nightfall when the grave diggers came to fill in the hole over the coffin. Martha was biting her lip, obviously not sure what to think. The rest of the ghosts came out a few hours later, the 1800s men getting out their corporeal cards and starting their century-spanning game, the Langs drifting out of the cemetery towards the Talon.

"We can leave the cemetery?" Martha asked, surprised.

"Yes, but not tonight," he responded sadly. He was going to have to do for her what his father had done for him.

"What do you mean?"

"It hurts too much for them if we go before they have their time to grieve," Martha looked skeptical, but he could only shrug honestly. "They need their time to adjust to your death just like you do… we need to stay here tonight."

"Alright."

They went and visited the farm at the end of the week. People were constantly stopping by, checking up on the remaining Kents and making sure they had everything they needed. Clark would smile appreciatively at each before wishing them a nice day and going back to his tasks. He was single-handedly, as usual, running the farm. Lois and the kids seemed to be settling in as well, much to Jonathan and Martha's surprise. The day they visited, they overheard a conversation with lawyers and discovered that the Kents were moving from Metropolis to Smallville, choosing to run the farm.

"I never thought Lois was cut out for life on a farm," Martha said, speaking above a whisper for the first time since her death.

"You'd be surprised at what these two are actually cut out for," Jonathan said chuckling and getting a curious look from his wife. "They wouldn't be living here if they both didn't want to be here."

"I know," Martha said.

It seemed to be the truth, too. Jason and Laura quickly adjusted to farm life, Jason enjoying the chores much more than Clark had just because he was allowed to use his ever increasing strength and speed while he did them. Laura had yet to develop her powers, being only two, but she liked being around the animals. Lois had settled after having her children, not quite so driven to go out and find trouble. Instead, she wrote freelance articles for the _Daily Planet_ and started writing a novel. Clark ran the farm and worked as Superman, though it was almost a month after Martha's death before he was ready to do any superhero work again.

Chloe became a more constant presence in their lives. The Kent farm was more secluded and private, and Chloe seemed to be in constant hiding. She explained to Lois one afternoon that she ran the 'Watchtower' for the Justice League, and, therefore, had to try not to catch anybody's attention. She'd dropped off the face of the world for a very good reason; she knew just as many secrets as the superheroes in the League, but she didn't have any special abilities with which to protect herself. Of course, she had a League of superheroes who would risk a lot to keep her safe, but flying under the radar was the best form of prevention.

"Is this what you've done for all these years?" Martha asked one evening. They were sitting on their respective headstones, Jason having just left after visiting them, bringing them fresh flowers and proudly declaring that his mother's cooking was finally starting to improve.

"What?" Jonathan asked, feeling extremely relaxed.

"Just sitting around, watching."

"Yes," Jonathan said, content. "We can't interact, we can just watch. I like to watch. It's better than playing cards- no offense," he said to the 1800s men, who brushed aside the comment, calling for their eldest member to deal already.

"I suppose I could get used to this," Martha said, scooting over to share his headstone and cuddling up to him.

"Me too," he murmured.

"Wasn't it lonely? Being dead all by yourself?"

"No," he chuckled. "I was with you every day."

"I know," she said after a moment, turning her face up to look at him. They were both smiling.

- - -

Chloe Wayne was the next to join them in death. She was buried in a private plot behind Wayne Manor, but she came to visit the Kents a few months after her death. She was confused, not sure what was going on. She was the only one in her cemetery, and she was lonely. Her husband couldn't see her and neither could her children, she'd had three little boys and a girl; John, Paul, George, and Samantha; in the ten years after Laura Kent had been born.

"Mr. Kent! Martha!" She said when she approached their cemetery. Martha was on her feet in a moment, running and hugging the woman before it had registered with Jonathan who the motherly blond woman with warm chocolate eyes was. She was different than the Chloe he remembered; of course, she was middle aged, just like them, in her death, her body bearing the curves of carrying her children and her face the light laugh lines of her life.

"Chloe!" Jonathan said, getting up and joining his wife on the gravel drive. "What happened?"

"I died, I guess," Chloe said, sounding a bit confused about the whole thing.

"When?"

"About three months ago."

"How?" Martha asked sympathetically.

"I'm not sure," Chloe said. "I'd been having some trouble with my legs though; the doctors were talking about operating on a blood clot that had been forming under the radar since I was on bed rest with the twins."

"That's too bad, you were so young," Martha said, shaking her head sorrowfully.

"Not really," Chloe said, chuckling. "I'd be seventy next Tuesday, I lived my life. My kids are grown and married, I've got grandkids… and I suppose I would've had a heart attack eventually if this hadn't got me," she smiled. "John taking over as Batman, Sammy running the Watchtower… _George_ taking over as _Green Arrow_ for Ollie… It's one thing when Bruce and I were doing it, but…"

"We know what you mean," Martha said, laughing. The pair of them had gone through enough troubles with Clark as he risked his life for the world; even if he was invulnerable they still worried. And now their grandson was helping out.

Bruce was the next to die, he was seventy-five. Chloe left the Smallville cemetery to spend her time on the private plot behind Wayne Mansion where it was just the two of them. They all had eternity to spend, they could live, or be dead, with a few years to themselves.

Martha and Jonathan kept tabs on the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Jason had joined his father in the skies. He was called Superman now, Clark taking on Kal-El even though he had once despised the name. Jason lived on the farm with his parents, still loving it after so many years. Laura had moved out long ago, going to college in New York on a full scholarship and ending up in Metropolis working at the _Planet_ just like her parents. Laura had married a young man she'd met in an English class, Mark, who later became a professor of English at Met-U. They had two kids, Veronica and Charlie; Laura hadn't told her husband about who her father was until after the wedding, much to Clark's distaste and Mark's astonishment. The Kryptonian genes seemed to be wearing thin, though, by that generation, and Veronica and Charlie only had a few of Clark's abilities. Jason, despite Clark's warnings, seemed to want to spend his life alone with his abilities, taking Martha's death harder than anyone but the ghosts realized until it was too late. He spent all of his time fighting crime and saving the world, leaving the Watchtower only to help out on the farm and keep his mother company.

Lois aged gracefully, but it was still hard for Clark to watch. He loved her no less when her hair was as silver as his mother's had once been, and her skin as wrinkled. Jason seemed to have more trouble with it; his mother had been his lifeline ever since his grandmother had died, and his mother was fading like his grandmother had. Lois lived to the ripe old age of one hundred and two, surprising many, especially when they considered her early smoking habits. Jonathan and Martha were there when it was Lois' time.

"Hey, Smallville," she whispered, calling him over. Her voice had been fading since she'd hit ninety-five, luckily her husband had extremely good ears and never missed a word.

"Lois?" He said, coming to her bedside and crouching down. He looked no older than he had the day Martha died, and he was back in the same room, at the same time of night when he and his mother had made eye contact for the last time.

"Take me flying?"

"Lois," he said, biting his lip and holding in his tears. They hadn't been flying in decades, not wanting to stress her heart or lungs with the altitude change.

"Clark," she said softly, but stronger than she'd sounded in years. "I want to… die- up there with you, not down here…" she trailed off, biting her lip. She knew how hard it would be for him to hear those words.

Clark nodded silently, knowing as well as she did that it was her time. They were both crying when he gathered her in his arms, wrapping the red cape he wore around her to keep the wind off. She was as tiny as she had ever been, her skin wrinkled from years of laughter and tears, her hair white and thinner than it once was. Modern medicine had kept her from suffering from arthritis or other once common diseases that come with age, but her body was old, and she'd led a full life.

Clark didn't change into his primary colored outfit, wearing the jeans and plaid shirt he'd always worn on the farm, remembering the torments and teasing Lois had sent his way because of it. He hadn't worn his glasses in months; the only people he saw these days were the people who knew his secret.

Kissing her forehead tenderly, he lifted off, floating gently out the window and over the fields. She was holding the cape around her, leaning her head against his chest the way Jason and Laura used to fall asleep against him when they were young and having trouble sleeping. Flying had always calmed their nerves enough to put them to sleep.

Clark didn't take his eyes off of her as they flew, and she didn't take her eyes away from his. Smiling gently, she reached up and brushed the tears off his cheeks. "Don't cry for me, Clark," she whispered, the wind snatching her soft words almost before he could hear them. "I'm ready to go."

"I'm not ready for you to go," he whispered back, making sure his words were just loud enough so that they would make it to her ears. She just smiled peacefully.

"We've had a good life, Smallville," she brought her hand back to its partner and took hold of the cape again. "Thank you for that."

"Lois?" He asked, she had closed her eyes and her body was more relaxed against him. "Lois don't go. Not yet… not yet," the tears were falling freely from his eyes, splashing on her eyelids as he leaned over her, pressing soft kisses to her face.

"Love you, Clark," she said, not opening her eyes, barely moving her lips.

"I love you," he repeated. "I love you, 'Lo."

She was smiling, at peace, when her heartbeat faded.

He let out a small sob and brought her back to the farmhouse. He laid her in the bed that they had shared for almost seventy years and covered her with his cape. Clark sat on the edge of the bed, the ghosts of his parents watching over him, as he cried for the woman he had loved. His children arrived within the hour, both bursting from the sky to stand beside the bed in shock. Jason stood by himself, neither offering nor giving comfort. It was Laura, then, who put her hand on her father's shoulder; Laura who had accepted the human part of her than felt things, Jason who had rejected it in hopes of escaping the pain they were all feeling now.

The funeral was three days later. Clark had to go to Gotham and have Chloe's daughter apply thick layers of makeup to his face and hands to make him look the hundred years old he was supposed to be. He wore a silver wig over his still jet black hair.

As when his father had died, he held his tears through the day of the funeral. It was a beautiful summer day, a day that was making Jason angry because it was so beautiful.

"It's like the world is mocking us," he said to his father in the truck, or what passed for a truck these days, on the way to the cemetery after the wake.

"She loved days like today," Clark said softly in reply. "She'd be happy today." That sent his daughter into a whole other fit of tears even though she was riding in her own car with children. Jason just looked out the window, biting his lip and hiding his tears.

They stood in silence as the prayers were read, and the ghosts watched on. Martha and Jonathan stood atop their headstones right next to where Lois' coffin was being lowered; the living had made the circle big enough to encompass the elder Kents inside of them. Chloe, her husband and their two oldest sons, Oliver Queen and the rest of the original Justice League, the General and Ella Lane, Lana Lang (who had been very surprised to learn a few secrets when she joined the dead at seventy-four), Laura's husband Mark, Perry White, Jimmy Olsen, a huge legion of ghostly presence had turned out to welcome Lois Lane-Kent into death.

Clark was standing straight, not feigning age, tired of pretending. He was standing beside his son, a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder; Jason would never admit it but the ghosts could tell his father's strength was the only thing keeping him upright. Laura's children were both grown, and they were supporting their mother to the right of her brother.

Lois materialized as the prayer finished and the casket began lowering into the grave. She was crying, watching her family stand there without her. None of the ghosts moved to interrupt her funeral.

The cemetery emptied slowly. Lois had been a renowned journalist and author with many friends and colleagues even after she'd left Metropolis. One by one they left. Laura's children took the car after all but the immediate family had left, knowing their mother would fly after them when she was ready. Jason flew off next, taking his father's hand off his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze of thanks before taking to the sky to find some sort of solace in the cold and darkness of the poles. Laura fell into her father's chest then, twisting fistfuls of his shirt in her hands as she sobbed. Clark's face wasn't dry of tears, either. He stood like a pillar, holding his daughter to him and consoling him like he had when she was nine and the cat had died.

Lois was beside herself. She could see her family there in pain and there was nothing she could do to help comfort them. Laura left after awhile, her tears having run dry, and unable to look at the grave anymore. Then it was just Clark. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. Rebellious birds in the surrounding trees sang their songs. Everything was green and lush, the breeze was warm; it was the perfect summer day. Clark just stood there, the tears drying on his face as he stared at the casket. He had put a bouquet of red roses there during the ceremony and he added a single white rose now, stepping away and looking over at the graves of his parents for a moment before looking back at, and probably through, his wife's casket.

"This is so much worse than kryptonite," he whispered, his voice shaking in a way that was completely unexpected to one seeing his unaffected stance. A moment later and he was gone, a sonic boom rippling through the air behind him and sending shock waves rippling past the ghosts.

"Lois," Jonathan said softly, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, not having noticed the other presences yet.

"Mr. Kent?" She asked, barely believing her eyes. Then she looked past him, seeing her friends and family, everybody she'd ever kept a secret from and who she wouldn't have to keep secrets from anymore.

- - -

Lois's headstone was put in place within a week, and it surprised them all. Clark had ordered it engraved for both of them, not unusual; what was unusual, however, was the fact that he had had Lois' date of death carved for his date of death as well. This had caused more than a few tears on the part of those that had passed on. Lois never left his side after the obligatory week for mourning, trailing after him in a way she never could when she was alive. He went about his usual business, running the farm alone (Jason refused to come back to the place where his mother had died), running a few missions with the new Justice League, and performing whatever acts of heroism were required. He never truly rested. He would sleep for an hour or two in the same bed his mother and his wife had lay in when they were dead and threw himself into his work on the farm and as Superman. Kal-El's face was all over the news, almost as much as it had been when he first arrived. He never gave any interviews, and the world knew that it was because Lois had died.

- - -

Clark effectively made himself disappear in the years that followed Lois' death. He left the farm to his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, only a portion of whom knew who he really was.

He had a huge savings account that he didn't need to keep adding to; he didn't really need to eat and he was happy enough living in the Watchtower with Jason. As far as the world was concerned, Clark Kent died on the date that the headstone he shared with his wife said he did; only there wasn't a body to go in the dirt.

- - -

In the years that passed before another Kent died, many things in Jonathan's world changed. As families reunited beyond the grave, they faded from the physical world into the next one, the one nobody alive ever knows about, and no ghosts can come back from. The Lang's, finally joined by Lana, faded first. The men of the 1800s got bored of their card game and faded as well not long after Perry White let himself move on. The Waynes were next, Chloe almost reluctantly as they saw Clark struggle through everyday life. Eventually, it was just Jonathan, Lois, and Martha. Laura's children died and faded with their immediate families, her daughter was killed in a car crash, dying on impact. That had torn up the entire living family, all of them blaming themselves for not being fast enough to save her.

Jason was the first to go. He was eighty-two, and Jonathan and Lois had been the ones to see it. Martha had taken to keeping track of her son; he barely spoke to anyone, only giving sad looks to the video cameras after he'd save a life before flying off to keep people from experiencing the pain that he felt. Jonathan was worried about Jason, his grandson hadn't been the same since his mother's death, but the world hadn't noticed. In this instance, he had insisted Lois come with him just to get her away from watching Clark, which made her depressed.

Jsaon was facing his own Lex Luthor, a man named Victor Zathuna, when he died. Zathuna had started out electronically scamming banks and large companies, amassing great fortunes and cashing out before the authorities could find him. He guarded his cash with his life, not daring to open any accounts anywhere. Somehow he had managed to acquire a large quantity of kryptonite as well, keeping it on the same ship that he kept his money on. A ship line in lead that was identical to fourteen other lead-lined ships he stashed around the world. He kept them all moving so that if Superman or Kal-El ever found the right one, he could move it before somebody who wouldn't be affected by kryptonite was sent.

On the day Jason died, Zathuna had made a mistake. He had made a public appearance, completing his illegal transaction in Metropolis. He, like Lex Luthor, was cocky in his own intelligence and had never thought that Jason would be able to catch on fast enough to trace him to the place where he _really_ was. Jason, too, was too cocky for his own good. Seeing Zathuna, he had swooped in and attempted to apprehend the criminal like he would any other. Unfortunately for him, Zathuna had a backup plan.

Zathuna unloaded a clip of kryptonite enhanced bullets in the hero's chest. Clark was there before he could reload, though, ignoring the pain of the meteor rocks and pushing the man aside hard enough to send him flying across the plaza. Martha appeared a second later, having fallen behind when Clark had super-sped away faster than she'd ever seen him move.

"Jason! Jason!" Clark was shouting, ignoring the crowd that had gathered. Clark wasn't wearing his colorful suit, just well worn jeans, a faded red t-shirt, and his ages old pair of black All Star high tops. He had been eating lunch at the Watchtower, reminiscing with the Martian Manhunter about 'the good old days' when he'd heard the shots. It hadn't been the shots he was worried about, but the sound of impact and penetration instead of the usual metallic squishing sound they made when the ricocheted off impenetrable skin.

"Don't die on me, son," he said, not yelling but just as desperate; his voice carrying across the plaza anyways, the crowd was silent.

Clark stuck his fingers in the bullet holes, pulling the kryptonite out of his son and hurling it away from them. The bullets would land a few states over; he had enough presence of mind to make sure they wouldn't impact with anything alive even though his fingers blistered as he touched each one.

He x-rayed his son's body and saw only a fragment of kryptonite left. Jason was moaning in pain, conscious, his eyes looking around to find the source of his pain. Clark tried to hold him still, knowing his wounds wouldn't heal until every last fragment of kryptonite was out of range.

"Dad?" Jason choked, managing to sit up a little, squinting in pain.

"Hold still, Jason, there's just a little bit left," Clark said, putting a hand on his shoulder to make him lie down again. He noticed a reporter with a camera (there were no newspapers anymore, everything was read by anchors and presented in full Technicolor!) trained on them, but he ignored it.

Jonathan was holding Lois back. A ghost's presence near the dying only made them go faster. No matter how badly she wanted to hold her son she was still a ghost. "No, Dad," Jason wheezed, choking on his own blood.

"What?" Clark asked, withdrawing slightly to get a better look at his son's face. He was smiling.

"You heard me," Jason said, chuckling. "You hear everything, remember." Clark bit his lip.

"I'm not going to let you die, Jason."

"No, you have to," Jason said, Clark shook his head again. "I'll see Mom again," he was smiling.

"No, Jason!" Lois was shouting from her place a few yards away. She knew death wasn't that bad, but all she could think about was what another death would do to Clark.

"You idiot bigheaded bastard!" Laura came hurtling out of the sky, flying for the first time in years. She landed heavily a few feet away from her fallen brother, cracking the pavement in her haste, before rushing to his side. "Do you _not_ have x-ray vision?! Could you _not_ see this coming, the bullets he was carrying?!" She was in tears, shaking almost as badly as her brother, and looking like she couldn't make up her mind if she was going to hit him and cry over him. She had taken to wearing a disguise in recent years to make her look as old as she was supposed to be, but the disguise was nowhere to be seen. Her hair, usually hidden by a silver tinged wig, was as black as ever and tied behind her in a loose braid; her skin was as smooth and pale as it had been the day she was born, a little paler because of the emotion and the kryptonite. She had arrived later than she wanted because she had taken the time to wash the putty that gave her false wrinkles off her face. "Jason, don't you _dare_ die!"

Clark was fishing for the fragment again, making Jason yell in pain. He got it, throwing it after the rest, but it was too late. Jason lay flat, struggling to breathe. Clark's fingers and hands all the way up to his wrists were blistered from the kryptonite.

"Jason!" Laura yelled again, making him flinch.

"Y'know, I can hear you just fine, oddly enough," Jason said.

"Why are you so damn cocky?" Laura pleaded, mirroring her mother's words a few yards away. Jason just gave a crooked, smile, a fine line of his blood tracing a path from the corner of his mouth down the side of his chin as gravity directed it.

Jonathan watched realization come to his son's eyes: Jason was not going to make it through this, the kryptonite had been in his too long, he'd lost too much blood. "Jason," Clark whispered in despair.

"Bye, Dad, have fun saving the world," Jason whispered back almost wistfully. Clark just bit his lip again, watching the life drain out of his son on international television.

Jonathan, Martha, and Lois were quiet as they watched Jason's spirit lift out of his body and shift into wherever it was ghosts went before they really became ghosts.

"Jason? Jason!" Laura cried in despair. "C'mon… Jason!"

Clark looked at his daughter sadly, swallowing back tears unsuccessfully. One got away, trailing a salty path down his cheek as he reached forward and closed his son's dead eyes.

"No," Laura said weakly, looking from her father to her brother, not believing it. "No, Daddy… he can't be dead! He's… Jason, he's… dead," her voice cracked and she sat back on her heels, still holding her brother's hand in between her own. Clark watched her for a moment; she was crying silently and holding the hand the way Jason had held Lois' hand at Martha's funeral.

Clark took a breath before leaning forward and slowly unwrapping her fingers from Jason's limp hand. Laura's hands caught her father's for a moment, her eyes widening when she saw the blisters that the kryptonite had caused. "Dad," she whispered, running a finger along the puss filled bumps on his thumb. Clark paused, placing Jason's hands on his stomach before turning slightly so that his hands were in the sunlight. The direct light healed the sores immediately, making a few people in the crowd gasp in surprise.

Ignoring them, Clark looked back at his daughter, she was smiling. "He'll be pissed to have died on such a pleasant, sunshiny day," she said through her tears. It was true, it was almost as clear as the day of Lois' funeral, only the plaza was eerily silent, no nature, no birdsong. Clark couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, he'll give somebody crap about that," he looked down at his hands again. They were clear of blisters, but covered in his son's blood. He wiped them on his already blood splattered jeans before bending and taking his son in his arms the way he had carried so many injured people before.

Laura was frozen to the spot, still sitting on her heels, shaking as her father disappeared quickly from view. She was still watching him, though, her eyes following him to places Jonathan couldn't see. He was back an instant later, though, bending down and taking his daughter's hand in his own.

Laura looked at him as he helped her to her feet. There were tears in his eyes that wouldn't fall until they were away from the people, there was anger there too, but that would just be repressed and forgotten in a way only he had ever managed to do. Laura broke down again, grabbing onto him and holding on like she had at her mother's funeral. Clark easily wrapped his arms around her and disappeared into the sky again.

Jonathan, Martha, and Lois stood in silence, looking at the space they'd last seen them occupy on the ground. The plaza around them was full of people but not one of them moved or spoke. Martha was the first to break the silence, though none of the living could know that.

"We should go back to Smallville now," she said decisively, her voice remarkably steady.

"Yes, we should," Jonathan agreed. They looked to Lois, who was still rooted to the spot, staring at her son's blood on the pavement.

"This isn't right," she whispered, broken, before they began the trek home.

- - -

Clark, Laura, and the Justice League attended Jason's funeral. He had no other contact, having barely spoken to even them after his mother's funeral. It was a quiet service, no pastor had been called because Jason wasn't one for religion; it was just his family giving their silent thanks for his life. Laura cried through it all, shaking in silence when the tears dried up.

Jonathan watched the figure of his eldest grandchild appear over his casket, looking around, confused. He saw the living first, getting even more confused, and then he turned around and saw the dead.

"Mom," he sighed, sounding relieved.

"Hey, Jason," Lois said, sounding incredibly sad. He embraced her and she held onto him for a moment before turning him around to face the people saying their goodbyes.

Again, Laura and Clark were the last ones left. Laura was still shaking, leaning back against her father. Clark's face was stony, not able to take the emotion that would pour out of him if he let go. He was looking across to the other graves now; his parents' the farthest away, then his own and Lois', and now, in front of him, his son's.

- - -

Laura lived to be one hundred and thirty-six.

After Jason's death, she decided to spend her time in a costume instead of pretending to age. Before she took to spandex, however, she wrote a book. With her father's help, she wrote Superman's life story, and her own life story. The book wouldn't be published until much later, but she wrote it.

Kent farm was long gone, Smallville turned into a suburb of the sprawling city Metropolis had become. Farming now took place on the moon, no need for little towns like Smallville. The Talon had become a flourishing chain, hundreds of stores spreading the U.S. and Canada. The cemetery hadn't changed much; the plot was fenced in and all the spots were taken, only one empty grave was left and the world thought it was full.

Without having to worry about the current residents of the old Kent homestead, Laura wrote her book. Jonathan watched and listened as he always did, Lois, Martha, and Jason at his side. The book started with what Clark remembered of his early childhood: images from Krypton, the first three years of his life spent completely alone soaring through space, and the joy he'd felt when Martha Kent scooped her up in her arms without a second thought. The pair of them talked about his developing powers, giving Jonathan and his wife a trip down memory lane of their own.

"It was an interesting way to meet," Clark said, recounting how he'd met Lois. "After I recovered from my amnesia, though, we quickly grew to hate each other."

"Really?" Laura asked, never having heard this part of the story.

"Oh yeah," Clark said, chuckling to himself. This was the first time he'd been able to talk about Lois without breaking down. "We never stopped fighting… I would always win, of course, and she hated it."

"You did _not_ always win!" Lois whined at him, sitting on the bed next to him even though he couldn't see her. "_I _always beat _you_ and it drove you nuts!"

"I always thought you were pretty evenly matched," Martha commented, chuckling at the scowl she received from her daughter-in-law. Jason and Jonathan just looked on, amused.

"Anyway," Clark said, shrugging, "we eventually figured out that we didn't hate each other quite as much as we thought we did. She even got used to my bad fashion sense, my 'plaid obsession.'" he said with air quotes, making his daughter laugh- he was wearing an old plaid shirt as they spoke. Lois rolled her eyes at him. "Eventually," he added. "After we were married."

"At the fifth anniversary I accepted the fact that you just don't get it," Lois said, sighing and shaking her head.

Clark told the story of his life, his father's premature death, giving more detail about his trip to Krypton, his five years of hell as he called it, than he'd ever given anybody but Lois. She was silent through his retelling, ignoring the looks she received from the dead ones around her. Clark told about his surprise when Lois told him Jason was his son, how happy he was, not having thought that it was possible. How quickly everything had moved from there, Laura's birth and how he almost hadn't been able to make it because the Green Arrow had a particularly bad flu that week and he was in Star City dealing with a hostage situation when he'd heard Lois yelling for him. Martha's death and his inheritance of the family farm, his surprise that Lois was willing to live there with him.

"I loved that farm, c'mon, Smallville," Lois chuckled to herself.

There were trials making ends meet that his parents had suffered through before him, the entertainment provided by two fledgling half-Kryptonians, and the dangers of keeping the family secret. Clark seemed genuinely happy to be reliving the golden days when his family had been around him, he'd known everybody in the Justice League since the beginning, and the world was still young. They did, however, eventually make it to the less pleasant, more recent part of his life. He told Laura about the deaths of his friends and their children. Lois heard his tale of her own death and had to leave the room; as it had been for Jonathan, she had no memory of the moment of her death and she certainly didn't like the thought that he had had to listen to her heartbeat falter to a stop.

Laura added her story, the life as the daughter of Superman and then hiding it from the world as she raised two children who could fly but nothing else, and dealing with their depression that they couldn't go out saving the world with Uncle Jason. She had revised the book twice, declaring it officially finished and slapping a dedication page in the front (For Grandpa Jonathan, whom I never met.) the night before she died.

"It's like that was what she was living to finish," Mark, her husband, whispered. He hadn't watched with the Kents, nor had his children. They waited in the Metropolis graveyard where they were buried, just waiting for her; Mark had appeared the evening of her death as though he could sense what was coming.

"Laura?" Clark asked quietly, walking around the bed to his daughter's side even though he already knew she was dead, Jonathan could tell because he was already crying. Clark just stood there for a moment, silently nodding and letting the tears fall. After that moment, however, he pulled himself together and left the room. Other superheroes entered the room over the course of the day, saying their goodbyes.

That night, Clark took her body and buried it himself next to her husband's in Metropolis. Like his grave, the headstone was already in place with a plausible date of death. He stood there all night, wearing all black and startling the night watchman when he came out for rounds.

"The cemetery is closed for the night, sir," the elderly man said cautiously. Jonathan couldn't tell what the watchman was being so cautious about. Clark's shoulders were hunched in defeat, his hair flopping over his forehead in a true Clark Kent style even without the glasses. He was dressed in all black, but most people dressed in dark colors when they went to visit the dead; of course, not many of them were there at two o' clock in the morning, 6'4", or quite as depressed as Clark looked just then.

"I'll be leaving shortly," Clark sighed just as Jonathan saw Laura's ghost materializing. The watchman pursed his lips but continued on his rounds, muttering something about how Clark had better be gone the next time he came by.

"Laura," Mark said, walking forward. Laura turned, surprised to hear her late husband's voice.

"Mark," she whispered, falling into his arms.

They looked back at Clark one more time; he was just standing there telling her whatever he had to tell her in his head. Once he had been really good at talking to graves, but it seems that so many deaths had pushed him to introspective conversations, probably trying to think of what they'd say.

Mark and Laura faded into the next world less than twenty minutes after she became a ghost. Clark had just set a white rose on her grave when the watchman came by again. "Sir, I need you to leave now or I have to call the police."

"Sorry," Clark mumbled before rising into the sky, leaving the dazed watchman making fish faces on the ground. When the watchman came to his senses he walked over to the grave that Clark had been visiting and took it all in. Mark and Laura had left then, shaking their heads at what was to come.

- - -

Clark was aging. He was getting older, tired out. Jonathan could tell even if the rest of the world hadn't noticed it yet.

It might be that the sun wasn't as young as it used to be, it might be that Clark was just tired of being the only one left.

Twenty years had passed since Laura's death. Jason had faded into the next world, growing tired of waiting, ready to rest. The world was improving, it seemed. The Justice League had broken up as the generations passed. Super powers were just harder to come by, and the crime rates dropped as the standard of living rose, and the standard of living was rising quickly. The original Superman was the only one still flying, the only one the world needed.

The only signs of Clark's aging were the silver tinted temples and the stress lines around his eyes. Jonathan watched Lois every day; she hated seeing her husband like this.

"People are supposed to get laugh lines when they get old," she said, touching his temple as he slept; he was having a nightmare, but her ghostly touch seemed to settle him. "Not these stress lines in his forehead, or the frown lines."

"He's not like most people," Martha said sadly. "He has had the weight of the world on his shoulders his entire life, and he doesn't have anybody left now at the end."

"He'll be with us soon," Lois observed almost causally before she realized what she was saying and chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Clark seemed to know his end was coming, too. In his last weeks he seemed much happier than he had in years, which still wasn't very happy. He gave a small smile, a forced one at that, to one reporter on camera and the world seemed to faint. Nobody had seen his teeth since Laura's death.

He seemed to be weaning the world off his help. He would purposefully respond later, standing back and watching, guiding the firefighters instead of swooping in and doing their work for them. Jonathan smiled, he had taught his son everything he knew and now his son was teaching the world.

Two days before he died, he contacted a museum, not telling them exactly what he wanted, but wondering where he could put something big for them to exhibit. Knowing big probably meant heavy, the museum cleared a courtyard he said would be big enough. Three hours later, the Watchtower was settled nicely in the courtyard, fitting perfectly. Most of the systems were offline, and all alien technology had been blasted with heat vision until there was no chance of backwards engineering it. The doors were open, the systems hooking into the satellites still working so that, if they so chose, somebody could continue to monitor planetary safety.

Clark gave the museum owner and a few of the senior docents tours of the Watchtower, telling them what room was what. This was the room Batman slept in when he was too lazy to go home, that's where the first Green Arrow practiced his archery, this is my room (that door was closed), this is the room my son and then my daughter used before they died, here's Aquaman's pool, this is the control center, this is how the control center works, this is the Hall of Heroes, etc. In the Hall of Heroes, Clark had compiled all the information about the original Justice League, their secret identities, short video clips of them from spare time at the Watchtower.

The day before he died, Clark brought Laura's book to the publishing company that had once been the _Daily Planet_, now called Daily Planet Publishing, the biggest and most successful publishing company to date. The CEO just about had a heart attack when Superman walked through his front door in full garb carrying the anthology of his life.

- - -

Jonathan sat on his tombstone holding his wife's hand and watching Clark sleep. He had arrived in the dark of night and was sitting over the place where the world thought he was buried. Lois, just like the rest of them, could tell that Clark's time was coming; Clark seemed to know too. He was holding a crisp white envelope in his hand draped over his knees in the odd position he was sleeping in.

At dawn the groundskeeper came by to put a fresh floral arrangement on Lois' grave, the arrangement Clark had put a standing order in for a week after she died and put a down payment big enough to keep the flowers coming for about two hundred years. The aging man, as all cemetery groundskeepers seemed to be in the later years of their lives, stopped in his tracks when he recognized the man sitting on the grass. Clark was wearing the same black outfit he'd worn to visit Laura, but he was wearing the glasses, the rectangular wire reading glasses he'd started wearing just before she died, the ones that barely hid his face at all.

"Um," the groundskeeper stammered, looking at a complete loss. Clark woke then, simply opening his eyes and looking up as though he hadn't really been sleeping.

"Good morning," Clark said. His voice was a whisper but still full of the strength that had always flowed out of him.

"Um," the groundskeeper said again, looking down at the bouquet in his hand before looking back at Clark. "Good morning," his voice cracked and Clark couldn't help but smile crookedly.

"Clark, you're being cruel. The poor man is so nervous," Lois chuckled, sitting on her headstone and watching the scene.

"It's a fine sunrise," Clark commented, looking away from the man to watch the colors play across the morning sky as the sun came a little higher on the horizon.

"You're Superman," the groundskeeper said, finally seeming to get his tongue under control. Clark focused on him again, smiling the same crooked, tired, smile.

"I was," he blinked slowly before looking out at the sun again, taking off his glasses to play with the frames as he always did. His wedding band flashed in the morning light as he moved his fingers.

"You … were?"

"I've finished my life," Clark said quietly. "The world will be okay without me."

"But- you're Superman!"

"Not always," Clark sighed. "My son was Superman for awhile, but he died. So did my daughter, my grandchildren, my wife," he looked at Lois' grave beside where he was sitting. He'd learned long ago not to look down into the ground, looking at the stone and remembering her was much more satisfying than seeing the body decaying below.

"What about Clark Kent, then?" The groundskeeper asked, crossing his arms, seeming to feel as though he had the upper ground.

"I was Clark before I was ever Superman," the groundskeeper had to take a step in to hear what he said.

"But… the headstone…?"

"I have outlived everyone I've ever known," Clark said, staring up at him evenly. "My life was about secrets. If the world knew Clark Kent was still alive, they would've figured it out. They would've gone after my family, turned my old house into a tourist trap… commercialized my life."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I need somebody to bury me," Clark said blandly. The groundskeeper looked horrified.

"But you're Superman, you can't die…"

"To the contrary," Clark said, sounding stronger, more like himself. "I've lived my life. It's just time."

"What, no press conference?" It was an attempt at a light tone, but it didn't quite come out right.

"I've never been one to seek attention," Clark said, smirking again. The groundskeeper looked like he was going to protest, point out Clark's fame, but then he stopped to think about it. Jonathan couldn't help but smile, Clark _did_ hate the media attention he got as Superman, it came with the small town upbringing, he supposed. "Sir, I'm going to die today," his voice was strong again, and the groundskeeper paled.

"No, I'll get help, I'll…" he stopped when Clark raised a tired hand.

"No, no," he shook his head. "There's nothing that could be done even if I wanted there to be… The world will be alright now; it's my turn to die." He paused. "Are those for her grave?"

"Yeah- yes," the groundskeeper jumped forward, setting the flowers carefully next to Superman, right at Lois' ghostly feet.

"I wish I could smell them," Lois said, looking at Martha and Jonathan with sad eyes. Jonathan looked back at the pair of living souls; Clark was holding the envelope out for the groundskeeper.

"This is for you," he said, "or whoever you think can handle it best. It is my will, I supposed."

"Your will?"

"Just some final instructions for after I'm gone," Clark shrugged weakly.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Because I can trust you."

"How do you know?"

"I see more than you think," Clark said. "I'm not worried… I'll be dead anyway, it won't matter to me- finally, something that I won't have to worry about," he chuckled, but it died in his throat before it came to the humor he used to be able to muster. "There are account numbers, passwords. All I ask is that you keep putting flowers on the graves of my family on the dates I listed. You can put the rest into college funds for your grandkids or donate it to charity, or buy a house. Whatever you need, there's plenty of it."

"Thank you," the groundskeeper finally managed, but Clark could only nod. He was back in the position the groundkeeper had found him in, looking out at the sunrise.

Jonathan watched as Clark's ghost came out of his physical self, the eyes on his body dropping closed and a pleased smile gracing his lips. The groundskeeper watched for a second, realizing that Superman had just died in front of him after revealing the biggest secret the world had ever kept. The man opened the envelope and read the letter before tucking it into his coat pocket and pulling out his cell phone to make the proper arrangements.

"He looks so peaceful," Martha said, watching the morning sunlight play across her son's face. He looked like he might wake up at any moment and ask for five more minutes, complaining about the thin curtains like he had in his teenage years.

"He is at peace," Jonathan told his wife, before pulling her into his arms and fading together into the next world.

- - - - - - - - - - -

I looked up and the first thing I saw was the Smallville cemetery full of people. It was packed so full of people I'm surprised they had the respect to stay off the headstones. There were people of every size, shape, and color spreading as far as the eye could see, and I can see pretty far. The remarkable thing is that it all seemed ordered somehow. They were all standing like they were in a huge, winding line leading past one thing. Then I realized that one thing was me. Or, at least, the me I can seen lying in the casket in front of me.

It's weird to see your own face looking back at you, much older than you picture yourself when not faced with a mirror.

I never imagined myself to have gray hair. I didn't think it was possible, being who I am. Or was, I guess. Apparently my inhuman abilities continue into death because the casket lying in front of me isn't open and I can see myself lying beneath the wood just fine. There's a creepily content smile on my face, my hair slicked back by the wind as it has been consistently for the past fifty odd years, the single rogue curl hanging over my forehead. The me lying in the casket is wearing the black slacks and button-up shirt I remember putting on before I went to lie down by Lois' grave, but the me standing here thinking is wearing the black converse All Stars that wore out decades ago, jeans, a white t-shirt, and a plaid shirt I'm sure Lois would _love_.

The people filing by my grave, because that's what it is, have one of two looks. About half of them are curious, the other half are sad. _Sorry, people, but I'm not sad to be gone. I've had a long life and I've been ready to be done for a _long_ time. _

Faces file past and I can't help but let them fade away, looking past them. So this is what being dead is like. It's not what I expected. Actually, it feels just like being alive only nobody seems to be able to see me, which could get really annoying.

I finally get around to looking behind me, and she is. Lois is standing just behind me in the clear space behind the headstone we share. She looks so much better than when I last saw her, not that she wasn't always beautiful, but she was on her deathbed. Now she's standing in front of me just the way I've always remembered her. Lois Lane-Kent, my wife, my strength, my life, and now, my death. Her hair is thick, dark, and curly as it always was, without a hint of gray or the pallid white it turned late in her life. There are familiar laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, witty light shining from her hazel eyes. She's not wearing what I would've imagined Lois to see herself wearing in her death; jeans as well worn as mine, the soft leather boots she bought right after we moved to the farm and wore until the soles fell off, a cream shirt, and, the kicker, a plaid shirt big enough to have come from my closet. It's basically blue, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned; she's swimming in it and she looks completely comfortable.

"Plaid, Lois? I'd've thought better of a woman like you," I tease, getting a smile right away. She's in my arms before I know it, her arms wrapped tight around my neck like the day I came back to the _Planet_ all those years ago after I got back from that ridiculous trip to Krypton. I can't tell if she's laughing or crying into my shoulder, but I certainly don't want to back off so I can see. Finally, she pulls away, running her hands over every contour of my face. She started doing that when she hit sixty and started getting wrinkles in earnest, pining for the tight skin I still had even when I'd give anything to have twice as many wrinkles as she ever got.

"No fair," she says, pulling a face then laughing at my confused reaction. "You look just like you always do, and I ended up with my laugh lines."

"I like your laugh lines," I remind her and she smiles again, melting my heart.

"I've missed you," she confesses, her face growing serious.

"I've missed you too," I can hear my own voice crack but can't bring myself to be embarrassed about it. Instead, I pull her close again and kiss her. And then we're fading into whatever's next. Together.

And it's wonderful.


End file.
